


Deputy Dimples

by superagentwolf



Series: College (Not)Wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Deputy Dimples” is calling him and Stiles tries and fails not to let out an excited squeak/squeal as he answers it, clearing his throat first and attempting to compose himself.<br/>“Don’t you all have a rule about phones and driving?”</p><p>-</p><p>In which Derek is the cute cop that escorts Stiles home from college. It's all very strange until Stiles and Derek start dancing around the magnetic pull they feel. Then it's even stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trip

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fic here! I got the idea when I was driving home from college. It's like a 7.5 hour drive and I was literally going a little bit insane. Writing this took a while and for some reason the formatting doesn't save when I paste it over so formatting it took forever. Yeah. TEDIOUS. Anyways, hope you enjoy!  
> UPDATE: Fic Rec/Posting: Hey all! I'd just like to mention that if you would like to rec one of my fics or post a link on tumblr, please tag me either as superagentwolf (A03) or wewereallinmexico (tumblr). I really appreciate it when you spread the love, but please remember to give some credit :)

Stiles is too wired to sleep so he watches the green digits on the clock change. In the back of his head he knows that he should be getting as much rest as possible but he can’t help the way his mind races as he thinks of getting back home to Beacon Hills.

It is a Wednesday night and Stiles is leaving early in the morning- he’s got an eight hour drive ahead of him and no one to share the ride with. Thankfully he packed everything early in the evening so there’s not much left to do but wait, sleep, get some caffeine, and hit the road. College is good- college is great, but Stiles thrives on connections, lives off of talking to people and being with friends and family. Here at college Stiles feels like he’s floating in a sea of people that don’t know him and probably don’t care about him. Sure, Stiles has a few friends, but they’re not the same as the people he’s known all of his life. Stiles can be independent and he’s not withering away at school but being away from the people he’s known all his life is strange.

When the sun hits the window the next morning Stiles is up twenty minutes early, staring at his phone with intense concentration. The logical part of his mind is cautioning him to get more rest but the part of him that misses home is ready to get going. Stiles climbs out of bed and goes to get dressed, quickly grabbing his phone charger and a few random objects he couldn’t pack in his suitcase. The clock is still creeping towards eight in the morning and Stiles is literally twiddling his thumbs, leg bouncing restlessly against his mattress.

“Screw it,” Stiles announces to his empty room. After a moment he rises, grabbing his red hoodie and stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. He has fallen into an efficient routine after the first two times he made the trip: wake up, get coffee, drive until he’s halfway home, stop for gas and a light lunch, keep driving. It’s a reliable plan that helps him get through the trip without falling asleep. Stiles calls his dad as he sits in his car waiting for coffee that probably has more sugar than caffeine in it.

“Hey, kid. You heading out?”

“Yeah, dad. Just getting some fuel before I hit the road,” Stiles replies easily, recognizing the giddy skip in his heart that comes from hearing his dad’s voice. Going home is easily one of the best parts of being away at college, Stiles thinks.

“Well, be careful. I know I always tell you, but it’s a long drive and you can fall asleep when you’re driving a straight road for hours,” the sheriff says, his voice a little gruff. Stiles imagines him leaning against his desk, waving away a deputy with a box of donuts and pointing to his phone with a grimace that’s all show. When Stiles is away his dad like to pretend that he eats all the unhealthy food he wants, but Stiles knows that his dad does his best to eat healthy even when Stiles is away at college. It’s one of those things they don’t really talk about, but Stiles knows it and his dad knows it so there’s nothing they really need to say.

When Stiles gets his coffee it’s eight in the morning and he is jittery with nerves and caffeine. His favorite music is pounding through the car and he adjusts his seat, GPS ready and coffee in hand. It’s time to hit the road.

-

Stiles hits the halfway point with a growling stomach; it’s a blessing that he hasn’t started getting drowsy at all. The exit is coming up fast and he finds himself considering where he wants to stop for food. There’s a Sonic up ahead but he doesn’t want to eat anything too heavy- his dad usually wants to do something for dinner when Stiles gets into town, and eating too much before driving is a terrible idea. Stiles settles on waiting to eat because he’s honestly not hungry at all yet.

The girl working at the gas station smiles at Stiles when he goes in for some gum. She is pretty in an offhand way, her brown eyes warm and strawberry blonde hair falling well past her shoulders. She reminds Stiles of Lydia before the drama with Jackson- in control, beautiful, formidable, a girl who knows what she wants. Of course, Lydia is still a force to be reckoned with- but she has become a little more hardened than before. Before college, Stiles probably would’ve been falling over himself at the way the girl is looking at him. Now, though, he feels only a small emptiness. Stiles has grown up since high school- not just because his athleticism is finally paying off with some (barely) noticeable muscles but because he’s learned a lot about people. And while Lydia will always hold a special place in his heart, he’s not pining after her any more.

Becoming friends with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd has also helped. The three kids that were once social outcasts had all been drawn to Scott and Stiles in their own ways, and Stiles wouldn’t trade them for anyone else. Allison, Jackson, and Lydia are all part of the team as well, but for some reason Stiles feels as if he connects with the others more. They’re all sort of damaged in a way that has made them stronger, better people. Stiles smiles back kindly at the attendant before buying his gum and leaving. He is all but resigned to single life now, and that’s strangely okay with him. Stiles has no reason to have another Lydia in his life, or something like what Allison is to Scott. Stiles has always known he can manage by himself, and leaving home has just pushed him to realize that.

Stiles checks in with his dad before starting off again and he smiles at the texts he gets in reply- some about “not eating” and “unhealthy habits”. As Stiles pulls out of the gas station he notices that it’ll be about an hour before he reaches the next city. He sighs resignedly and turns up the volume on the radio.

-

Somewhere close to forty-five minutes later Stiles is feeling tiredness creep into the edges of his mind. He frowns and grabs a fresh stick of gum, hoping to keep occupied by trying to blow the perfect bubble. Everything’s good and fine until he hears the noise of a police car behind him. He’s about to lament the poor sap that got pulled over until he notices that the car is tailing him.

“Ah, shit,” Stiles groans, and a quick glance at his dashboard tells him that he was going four miles over the limit. It’s nothing terrible for this area, especially with all the huge trucks, but some of the troopers are picky. Stiles pulls over carefully, popping a compartment to double-check that all the papers are in place.

The door of the car opens after a minute and Stiles leans back in his chair. He knows how to handle cops, mostly because of his father. Unfortunately, Stiles is not at home and he doesn’t really know what the cop will be like, so he just sits and waits anxiously, thinking only of the time he’s losing.

The man walking towards him is wearing shades in the morning sun. Stiles hums curiously as he watches the figure in his side mirrors. _He’s kinda cute_ , Stiles thinks briefly before slapping his cheek in disbelief. _I’ve been on the road for too long_. When the cop walks up to his window, though, he takes back the thought. He really is hot, and Stiles thinks his lips are probably parted very unattractively right now but he doesn’t care because damn. The guy’s got Hale on his uniform and Stiles coughs a little, hoping he doesn’t look as disheveled as he feels. He knows he’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that’s a little bit too short when he raises his arms but suddenly he feels like he’s wearing an oily potato sack.

“Sir. You were going a little over back there. In a hurry?” Oh god, even his voice is handsome, Stiles thinks, and he runs a hand distractedly through his dark hair. “Hale” has an arm braced against the top of Stiles’ car door and Stiles is trying not to drool at the sheer muscle outlined in gold sunlight.

“Yeah- I mean, no, I’m not really in a hurry, like, not enough to speed, because I don’t speed. Um. My dad’s a sheriff. I just- got distracted. Long drive,” Stiles finishes lamely, waving his hand aimlessly like he’s trying to kill the awkward pixie drawing little hearts around Hale’s face.

The guy raises an eyebrow in what Stiles imagines is probably his signature look, but then he does something surprising and removes his sunglasses. It’s probably a really bad thing for Stiles because of course Hale has gorgeous eyes that seem to be green, blue, and brown at the same time. And his eyelashes are gorgeous. Actually, he’s just gorgeous in general and Stiles wants to die.

“Really? Where are you headed to?” The guy seems genuinely interested, and Stiles has completely forgotten about his rush to get home.

“Beacon Hills,” Stiles says, and there’s a flash of recognition in Hale’s eyes. “I’m actually close to eight hours away from home, so I leave pretty early to get there before it’s dark.” His heart start to slow down a bit, which he’s grateful for, but Hale is making it difficult with his nice uniform and forest eyes. Damn men in uniforms.

“Really? I’m actually from Beacon Hills,” The guy says, and Stiles can’t help the way his jaw hits the mat in the car. To his credit Hale doesn’t even blink at Stiles’ reaction.

“What? But you’re-,” Stiles quickly stops himself before he inadvertently reveals his embarrassing inner dialogue, and luckily Hale doesn’t seem to notice.

“I was actually going to visit tomorrow…you know, if you want, I can drive down with you. Traffic can get pretty bad once you get to the city. If you don’t know the exits you could get turned around really easily,” Hale says easily, as if he’s suggesting that Stiles follow a friend and not an insanely godlike cop.

“Oh- I don’t want you to get in trouble. I mean, that would be great, because after I get through the city I feel like my hands have cemented to the steering wheel and I’m just generally exhausted, but, like, I’m not gonna make you do something that’ll get you in trouble,” Stiles rushes out, and he can’t stop the wild gesticulations that naturally pour forth. He’s almost certain that he has successfully scared off the guy until he realizes that Hale is smiling and he looks amused.

“It’s no trouble. I’m officially off right now anyways,” Hale adds, turning and giving Stiles a mouthwatering display of his neck as he pulls a phone out of his back pocket. “Why don’t you give me your number just in case?” Stiles eagerly rattles off the digits to Hale and feels his heart doing bunny jumps in his chest even though his brain is logically telling him _he’s not interested, moron, he’s just doing his duty as an officer_. Stiles isn’t entirely buying that logic, though, because what kind of hard worker who’s off duty is going to go out of their way to escort a gangly college kid home?

“What’s your name?” Hale is asking, and he looks vaguely embarrassed in a stoic way (Stiles is pretty sure the guy’s default is a poker face).

“Stiles.” Hale’s brows knit for a moment and he looks so adorably confused that Stiles just wants to hug him and kiss him and maybe sit on his lap-oh, he’s talking again.

“What- what does- I mean, where-?”

“It’s not…from anywhere. It just- my name is kind of difficult,” Stiles says, biting the inside of his cheek while trying not to grin like a fool. “What about you?”

“Derek,” the guy says, and his eyes fucking sparkle and he’s smiling with such a gorgeous face that Stiles has to actively think about making his heart pump because he’s pretty sure that phrase “if looks could kill” applies here. In a good way. A very good way.

Stiles’ stomach takes this exact, perfect moment to decide to grumble very loudly. Stiles flushes brightly and the only hope is that it’s so bright outside that Hale can’t really tell because he very obviously heard it. He bites his lip and the image makes Stiles want to bite those lips but he quickly drives off that road because it’s not helping one bit.

“We can stop once we get out of the city. I haven’t had lunch either.”

-

They are fifteen minutes out of the city and Stiles is so glad that Derek helped him through. For some reason, everybody and their mother was on the road and driving like lunatics. The only plus was that most people in a general three-car radius of Derek started driving a little more cautiously after noticing the car.

Stiles’ phone rings suddenly and he unthinkingly fumbles for it, glancing at the screen as he drives a straight road. “Deputy Dimples” is calling him and Stiles tries and fails not to let out an excited squeak/squeal as he answers it, clearing his throat first and attempting to compose himself.

“Don’t you all have a rule about phones and driving?” Stiles teases, and he hears a brief snort from Derek’s end. It is far too attractive and distracting and Stiles almost misses Derek’s words.

“I was just wondering where you wanted to stop,” Derek says, and god, Stiles could listen to that voice all day.

“I’m up for anything. I cook a lot. Like, I usually try and get my dad to eat healthy when I’m home and stuff, so anything I don’t have to make is…good,” Stiles finishes lamely, mentally kicking himself for the tangential information. _He doesn’t care about whether or not you cook! You’re not auditioning to be his boyfriend!_ Hale laughs through the phone, though, and it should be pretty impossible for someone to sound so good via cell phone.

“I get it,” Hale says, and Stiles can hear the smile in his voice. “We can stop up ahead, there’s this really great barbecue place I like to stop sometimes.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles says, and he’s biting his lip to try and contain the smile enveloping his face.

The barbecue place turns out to be pretty great. There’s outdoor seating and lots of wood and the gorgeous scent of hickory smoke everywhere. The sunlight is warm but not assaulting and the trees shading the tables are green and beautiful. And the _food_. _God_ , Stiles has never eaten barbecue this good. Ever. He tells Derek, who ducks his head a little and smiles, which is so adorable.

Stiles talks about going to college and not really knowing where he’s going in life- he loves his dad and he knows law enforcement, but he likes being around people too much. He mentions taking culinary classes and how his friends all think Stiles should open up a bakery or bistro. He talks about Scott, Allison, Isaac, Lydia, Jackson, Boyd, and Erica. Derek talks about his sisters Laura and Cora and his “creepy” uncle, Peter. He talks about how being in law enforcement is great but he’d love to work with his sister Laura at a nature preserve. He mentions the wolves and how he absolutely _adores_ them and his face lights up in boyish excitement as he describes them.

Somehow, sitting and talking with Derek feels big. It feels like something is starting, and Stiles doesn’t know what it is but he knows it’s good.

-

When they reach Beacon Hills Stiles feels like a little kid caught reading under the covers. Suddenly he’s _home_ , but gorgeous Derek is still there, and Stiles feels like they’re being ripped apart by _life_ , and it sucks. Stiles chews on his already abused lip as they get to his house, Hale still leading the way since he knew the address.

When Stiles comes to a stop in the driveway he almost jumps out of the window in an attempt to get to Derek before he just leaves. Derek has surprisingly stayed, though, and he’s climbing out of his car, stretching a little from the long drive. Stiles suddenly doesn’t know what to say.

“Hey. So…thanks. For bringing me all the way,” Stiles adds unnecessarily, and his hands are shoved in his pockets and he’s trying not to make too much eye contact because he doesn’t _know_ Derek and the guy was just being nice, so there’s no reason to think that this, whatever it was, will last. The edges of despair start eating at his heart and it hurts too much to think about so he smiles nervously, waiting for the words- the goodbye- to come.

“It was no problem. Anyways, I enjoyed…talking to you,” Derek says, and he’s looking at Stiles a little too intently and Stiles can’t help but meet his eyes. There’s something there, some sort of emotion Stiles can’t pinpoint, but Derek is stepping a little closer and _oh my god is he going to k-_

“Stiles! Need some help?” _DAIEFSDAEIIJGIOENAKDL!!!!_ Stiles’ already short-circuiting brain erupts and suddenly he and Derek practically jump apart as the Sheriff comes bounding out of the house. John catches sight of Derek and his face quickly becomes guarded and professional, suspicious eyes glancing over his car.

“Hello. Deputy-?”

“Hale. Derek Hale,” Derek says quickly, and he steps forward to shake John’s hand, looking oddly starstruck. Stiles frowns a little, mouth working in confusion as John’s eyes suddenly light up in recognition.

“Hale. I remember you. Did you stop by for something?” John’s posture is suddenly relaxed and Stiles looks between the two men, completely lost. Derek smiles a little, still giddy and nervous, running a hand through his short hair.

“No. No, sir, I just- I drove Stiles up. From school,” Derek adds, blinking too hard as he adds the last bit. _OH MY GOD. What the hell? Derek knows my dad?_ Stiles is still carrying on a garbled conversation in his own head but he quickly shuts the confusion out and settles on the fact that John is looking at Derek in a vaguely calculating manner.

“Yeah. Dad, he helped a lot. I mean, traffic was shit in the city.” John doesn’t even bother to look reprimanding at Stiles’ language, instead surveying Derek with his interested gaze. Derek smiles back but starts to look a little nervous so Stiles adds, “I was just telling him thank you. You know. It was nice of him. Oh- I can get the stuff. It’s not a lot.” John nods slowly, eyes finally leaving Derek.

“Well, get going. We’re having dinner in an hour,” he says, winking. He turns his gaze back to Derek one last time and says with a smile and firm handshake, “Nice to meet you. And thanks.”

“You know my dad?” Stiles asks incredulously when John’s gone inside. Derek has the grace to look a little sheepish.

“I don’t know him. He was just one of the men that came to my house when the fire started,” Derek says, and Stiles remembers Derek talking about it- the fire that almost killed his entire family, the case that made him aspire to a career in law enforcement. “I didn’t know you were related. I mean, you didn’t tell me your last name,” Derek defends, and Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“Well, at least he likes you.”

“He does?” Stiles’ heart beats thunderously at Derek’s excited tone and he has to remind himself that Derek sees the guy as a hero. He’s obviously not excited because it’s _Stiles’_ dad.

“Yeah. Dork,” Stiles says fondly, and without thinking he reaches out to mess with Derek’s hair. It’s a move he does often with Scott, who is fond of keeping his hair in mop-like condition. Stiles doesn’t really realize what he’s doing until Derek blinks at him, lips vaguely parted, and it should be impossible but it feels like Stiles’ dad never interrupted because the _feeling_ is there again. Stiles and Derek must be magnetized because they’re moving closer but it seems natural, like they’re supposed to be close, and Stiles can feel the pull- and then Derek’s phone makes a noise.

“Uh-,” Derek seems as incapable of speech as Stiles is, and he blinks furiously as if there’s a fog enveloping his head as he looks at his phone. “It’s Laura. She, um. Wants me to pick up Cora on my way home,” Derek says dumbly, and Stiles laughs shortly, fingers tangled in dark hair.

“Um- right. Okay. Well, um- have fun. I…hope you have a good vacation,” Stiles manages to say, and Derek smiles a little, still looking dazed from whatever it was that almost happened.

“Yeah. You too,” Derek says, and he’s turning and getting into his car and Stiles is too stunned to listen to the voice in his head screaming at him to go after him, but he doesn’t have to because Derek’s window is rolling down and Stiles goes to him immediately, breathless and wanting.

“I have your number. Um- in case you want help going back down,” Derek says, and Stiles could be wrong but there’s hope in his beautiful eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sounds…great.” Stiles slaps the window with his hand and Derek smiles. They stay there for a moment before Stiles steps back and watches Derek drive away, smile still plastered to his face.


	2. Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days is too long in Stiles' opinion. He takes it upon himself to call the elusive Deputy and crosses his fingers so tightly they're liable to fall off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while! I actually FORGOT that I'd already written Chapter 2. I REPEAT: I FORGOT. *dies an embarrassing death* Anyways, I'm sorry it's so short, but I didn't think the next part fit the chapter well. I'm writing a whole lot right now so that hopefully I'll be able to post regularly for a little while even if I have no clue what to write next. Please enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think!  
> BONUS: What do you think Derek was doing when he answered the phone?

Stiles is two days into vacation and Derek hasn’t called or texted yet.

The pack is mostly in Beacon Hills save for Lydia, who has obtained a super-prestigious internship _already_ and isn’t going to be in town until Monday. It is currently Saturday afternoon and Stiles is eating lunch with Scott and Allison at a local pizza place, ignoring the heart attack-inducing plate Stiles settled on.

“I mean- I don’t know what happened. We were having a great time, and it was good, it was _great_ , but- he hasn’t called yet. I know I shouldn’t expect someone I _just_ met to suddenly be all buddy-buddy, but I really thought we were shaping up to be bros!”

Allison glances at Scott with an amused, almost _knowing_ smile. Stiles can’t handle that smile. He’s seen it before and it’s almost always followed by a disturbingly accurate insight that tends to make life difficult. Scott doesn’t seem to notice, though, if his concentrating-face is anything to go on.

“Well, it took a little while for _us_ to be friends,” Scott says almost sullenly, and Stiles can’t help but smile a little bit. Allison giggles into her lemonade.

“Dude. You were _all_ over me the day we met. I brought cookies to school, remember? Anyways, I wasn’t getting _our_ epic bromance vibes from Derek. He just- seemed like a rad guy,” Stiles finishes, taking a self-conscious bite of his pizza and watching as Scott’s face lights up. Stiles may thrive on relationships but Scott also suffers from being away from his best friend.

“Well…maybe _you_ should call _him_ ,” Allison offers, spearing miniscule farfalle and tuna on her fork before taking a bite. Both Scott and Stiles stare at her until she rolls her eyes, laughing a bit. “Maybe he’s not used to it, you know? He’s probably used to people _hating_ him for pulling them over and stuff, right? But _you_ know about law enforcement, and you understand it. You don’t judge just because he has a badge,” Allison finishes, absentmindedly searching her pasta for celery. Scott just stares at Allison like she’s the eighth wonder of the world.

“Wow. Okay. Well, when you put it that way,” Stiles says, a little blown away. He hadn’t really thought his insight was particularly special, but once he started thinking about it, it did make sense. “Besides, I think Derek is reclusive anyways. He was kinda…I don’t know. Not shy, but private, I guess.”

Allison’s knowing little smile returns and Stiles decides to ignore it. He can’t have his mind blown twice in one day.

 

-

 

Stiles finally sucks up the courage to call Derek at around six o’clock on Saturday. He spent nearly an hour pacing his room, holding a torrential argument with himself and desperately trying to convince himself he didn’t like Derek _that_ much.

Obviously, he lost the argument.

The phone rings in his ear three times and he can feel the pressure mounting at the fourth. The fifth ring has barely started when there’s a click, a spark, and suddenly a voice washes over Stiles.

“Hey,” Derek says, and from his near-breathless tone he either was surprised by Stiles’ call or he’s been running. Either way the mental image is golden.

“Hey,” Stiles replies, and he can hear the goofy smile in his own voice. Apparently Derek can, too, because he lets out a short but delighted laugh. Stiles scratches his nose, mouth working soundlessly (thank god for Adderall) as he tries to think of something to say, because _no_ , he did not _plan ahead_. “So- I figured we’re too old for the whole dating rule, you-call-me, I-call-you game.” _OHMYGOD SOMEONE KILL ME. NOW._

“I don’t know. I kind of enjoy the hopeless feeling of waiting and bouncing around restlessly. It kind of feels like the hiatus between seasons of Supernatural,” Derek teases, and Stiles thanks god that Derek is chill enough not to freak out at the dating joke.

“Wait, did you say _Supernatural_?!” Stiles nearly shrieks, and he jumps up and down erratically before sprawling in his swivel chair as awkwardly as possible.

“Quit jumping around, Stiles, I can’t hear your voice as well,” Derek laughs, and Stiles blushes so much he swears it’s audible. “Yeah. You watch too,” Derek says, rather than asks, and Stiles grins widely. _So my type. So very much my type._

“Absolutely! And believe me, I can rival _any_ pre-pubescent girl with a tub of ice cream come hiatus,” Stiles says matter-of-factly and it only makes his heart melt even more when Derek takes it in stride, snorting _attractively_ , which should not be biologically possible. “Let me guess. You’re a Dean kind of guy?”

“Actually…I kind of like Cas,” Derek says, and he sounds like he’s confessing to a murder or something. Stiles feels his megawatt smile return and he kicks his legs sporadically to make his chair turn.

“ _Ohmygod_ , seriously?! Dude! Wait, I guess I kinda knew that. He’s powerful, but he’s a good guy. He always tries to do what’s best even when he doesn’t know what the hell is going on,” Stiles muses, mostly to himself, but there’s something like a sharp inhale on the other end that makes Stiles bolt upright. “What?” He asks, immediately worried, dreading that he’s said something wrong.

“Nothing. It’s just- how did you know that? Some people I’ve known for _years_ don’t get that much about me and you just _got it_ in less than four hours,” Derek says, laughing in a somewhat incredulous and awed manner. Stiles tries to remember how to breathe properly before formulating an answer.

“Well…I don’t know. I didn’t think I was that good at reading people,” Stiles says, laughing a little bit. “But I guess being the Sheriff’s kid helps. And…I don’t know. You just…seemed to fit the bill.” Stiles bites his lip and tries to stop the grin that’s beginning to hurt his cheeks but it’s a fruitless effort at best. _Things like this don’t happen to me. They don’t happen in life. These things **do not** happen in real life._

Stiles and Derek talk about Supernatural and other random shit and suddenly the sky is darkening outside and it’s been almost twenty minutes since they first started talking. _Oh, shit! I’m making dinner tonight!_ Stiles desperately wants to just talk to Derek forever and never hang up the phone but John will be home in less than two hours and Stiles’ signature lasagna takes some preparation. It is with a great deal of reluctance that Stiles finally brings their conversation to an end.

“I’m sorry, I just realized that I’m making dinner for my dad tonight and I have a lot of stuff to do before he gets home,” Stiles says, and he feels as if he just dropped a puppy or something. Thankfully Derek is obviously very mature and apparently at ease with Stiles so the letdown isn’t much of a letdown after all.

“Okay. I’ll let you go then,” Derek says pleasantly, but there’s a hint of something else in his voice, like he’s saying one thing but meaning something else. _No! Don’t let me go,_ Stiles thinks to himself desperately, and despite his conviction to hang up he decides to take a gamble.

“So on Tuesday my dad’s going to some party at the station and I’ll be pretty much free all afternoon. You wanna come over and hang out?” _Oh god. Could I sound any more like a horny teenager?_ By ‘hang out’, Stiles pretty much means he’s hoping he can hang on Derek’s mouth all afternoon. Thankfully, Derek doesn’t seem to notice. He just seems inordinately happy at the offer, which is heartening.

“Yeah. That’s cool with me. Um…do you want me to bring-?”

“Nah, I got it,” Stiles replies immediately, grinning at the way Derek actually sounds _excited_. “I’ll cook- you could probably use some recipes since your sisters aren’t that domestic,” Stiles says, laughing, remembering how Derek had described the kitchen fiasco that was his homecoming.

“Okay. I’ll see you then,” Derek replies, laughing, and Stiles bids him farewell with a gigantic smile that will never be seen. The lasagna-making passes in a daydream in which Stiles sways around the kitchen to Sweater Weather and imagines what Derek looks like out of his uniform. John doesn’t say much when he walks into the kitchen to find Stiles in such a happy mood, but if his raised eyebrow is any indication he’s certainly going to be keeping a close eye on his strange son.


	3. Falling in Love in a Coffee Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's back in town and more than ready to advise Stiles about Derek. Morning coffee feels like being stuck in the Twilight Zone because even Scott seems to think Derek has a thing for Stiles. Thankfully, a distraction arrives. Unfortunately, said distraction comes in the form of Stiles' object of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I certainly had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It's kind of crazy getting everyone to have a part in the romance but I felt like it was kind of necessary since Stiles really thrives on his relationships. Again, I wish it was longer but I feel like making it too long kind of makes no sense. Stiles and Derek's interactions are slow to start, but I think their Tuesday date might just be a step in the right direction! As always, read, review, and enjoy!

“Sex. Now.”

Lydia is reclining regally in her chair, red nails perfect ovals of professionalism that tap against her coffee cup rhythmically. Two or three years ago Stiles would’ve been falling at her feet if those words had passed her strawberry-glossed lips. Today Stiles pouts and crosses his arms, ignoring the furrowed brow and confused look that Jackson’s sending to everyone else at the table.

Monday morning coffee had been largely uneventful until the just-arrived Lydia had asked Stiles why he kept checking his phone. Allison’s enigmatic smile had only prompted Lydia to extract every bit of information about Derek from Stiles that she possibly could. Her conclusion based on the facts was almost entirely unbelievable to Stiles.

According to Lydia, Derek was both completely in love with Stiles and wanted to fuck him six ways to Sunday.

“No. Lydia, he’s older than I am and he practically _idolizes_ my dad. He’s just being…nice,” Stiles finishes lamely, and even Scott looks at him like he’s being stupid. _Oh my **god**. You have got to be kidding me._ Jackson huffs in annoyance, flicking a blueberry from his empty muffin wrapper at Stiles.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Fuck him or don’t,” Jackson says, frowning, as if the answer is that simple.

“I don’t have the luxury of believing everyone is attracted to me. And by luxury I mean mental incapacity,” Stiles retorts, and Lydia raises a perfectly arched eyebrow as she sips her coffee. Jackson merely looks proud because he isn’t really paying attention to Stiles and he certainly isn’t about to argue the fact that he thinks everyone is attracted to him. “Besides, I really like him. Like, I enjoy his company. I’m not about to jump him just because he also happens to be ridiculously hot.”

“Stiles. I love you. Really, I do. But you’re incredibly stupid. You’re never going to get a guy like that to throw himself at your feet. First of all, he’s a police officer, and second of all, he seems like he’s very reserved,” Lydia says, and the way she says it makes it sound like common sense. In fact, it really does make sense, but Lydia’s special brand of logic is not exactly common. She has intuition to rival Allison’s that’s usually coupled with generous amounts of stark truthfulness.

“Okay. Fine. _Maybe_ he likes me. But how the hell am I supposed to find out? He seems like a genuinely nice guy in general and-,” Stiles is cut off by Erica’s well-manicured hand as she waves dismissively, speaking for the first time since they’d ordered.

“Nice guys don’t go over to guy friend’s houses barely five days after they’ve met,” She says, and Lydia smirks at Stiles with a look that dares him to argue. He doesn’t argue and chooses to groan with the knowledge that he can’t argue with _any_ of them, head buried in his palms in defeat.

“You could just ask him,” Isaac says helpfully, and Stiles lets out a short laugh. The guy is second only to Scott in pure innocence and he occasionally even surpasses Scott in the oblivious department. Lydia just smiles at Isaac fondly in a way that makes him squirm self-consciously and Stiles frowns into his coffee cup.

“I-,” Stiles immediately loses his train of thought as he happens to look out the window over Lydia’s shoulder. _OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD-_

“It’s him,” Lydia says automatically, eyes narrowed calculatingly as Stiles tries to control his breathing. All of Stiles’ other clueless friends immediately react in varied levels of excitement.

“Where? Where?” Allison gasps, and she immediately leans over the table to try and get a glimpse of Derek, who is walking down the sidewalk in his uniform, drink in hand. Erica is the first to spot him and her appreciative hum is echoed by Allison.

“That _uniform_ , though,” Erica says mischievously, smirking as Stiles blushes profusely. “He _is_ hot. Let me know if he turns you down,” she says, laughing. Lydia is more discreet in the way she turns to look nonchalantly, but her lips twist into an impish smile.

“Oh, he _is_ cute. Good job, Stiles,” She says, sipping her coffee aristocratically, as if they aren’t discussing a person but a particularly expensive car. _I **would** like to go for a ride, though, _ Stiles thinks, and the confession- even if it _is_ unspoken- makes him blush even harder. He doesn’t stop the smile spreading on his face, though. He _knows_ Derek is hot and something inside of him is inordinately proud that he can even claim to be Derek’s _friend_.

“Looks like he’s crossing the street,” Scott says, squinting in the early morning light, and Stiles’ heart skips a beat.

“What,” Stiles manages to squeak, and he furtively glances out the window to see that Derek is walking towards the coffee shop. _Shit shit shit!_ _Did he see me?_ It doesn’t seem like Derek sees Stiles but it’s probably going to happen because Stiles is wearing a red hoodie and it _would_ be just his luck that the guy he’s falling over shows up when his meddlesome friends are around.

Stiles hurriedly begins to strip off his jacket, ignoring Isaac’s confused stare and the way that Lydia is smirking at him like she knows something he doesn’t. The offending red hoodie is quickly tossed onto the windowsill under the table and Stiles practically buries his face in his coffee cup, straining his eyes sideways to watch Derek as he gets closer.

“And you think that taking your hoodie _off_ will help him not _notice_ you? While you’re wearing that shirt?” Lydia asks in a condescending tone, her red nail waving in lazy circles at Stiles’ chest.

“What?” Stiles replies, looking up from his coffee- and in that split second Derek sees him. Stiles still can’t get over Derek’s eyes and they practically _glow_ when he catches Stiles’ eye. Stiles can already feel a goofy grin overtaking his face and Erica’s snickers pass in one ear and out the other as the whole table tries to contain their urge to look over their shoulders at Derek. “Oh shit, he’s coming in,” Stiles gasps, and he resists the urge to duck under the table as Derek makes a beeline for the coffee shop.

Allison is grinning like a little girl at a tea party as she watches Stiles actually _flail_. He’s unsure of what to do and feeling like a prisoner awaiting execution if prisoners could be executed with hotness. Derek seems to take ages to walk up to the table and in that time Stiles dies and is resurrected at least ten times.

“Hey. You’re up early today,” Derek says, and the only giveaway on his stoic, godlike face is a raised eyebrow. That eyebrow tells Stiles everything he needs to know- and apparently Lydia, too, because she raises her eyebrow and her expression clearly says _he knows when you wake up?_

“Yeah, um…Lydia got in today, so we met here,” Stiles says, running a hand through his messy hair. Lydia gives Derek a conspiratorial smile, waving her fingers at him in a decidedly sly manner. Derek seems confused for a moment, but he smiles nonetheless and suddenly seems very aware of his position at a table of seven twenty-year-olds.

“Oh. Um…so, I’ll just-,”

“No! Sit down, please,” Allison jumps in suddenly, smiling like a Disney princess, and judging by Scott’s sudden grunt of pain she elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yeah, man. It’s cool. We’ve been dying to meet you- Stiles talks about you a lot,” Scott says helpfully, smiling earnestly. Derek doesn’t notice his expression of pain when Erica stomps on his foot, reprimanding, and Stiles barely notices because Derek is looking at him with barely contained amusement at Scott’s remark. Stiles flushes and glances away defiantly.

“If you’re sure,” Derek says, shrugging nonchalantly, and Stiles grins, pulling up an extra chair in response. Jackson is eyeing Derek as if he’s sizing him up and Stiles is suddenly very worried just how this impromptu get-together will go.

“So you’re from Beacon Hills?” Isaac asks, and Stiles is surprised at his willingness to interact with Derek. Isaac isn’t one to initiate conversation and he’s typically very acerbic when he does but he seems genuinely interested in Derek.

“I am. I’ve been thinking about moving back to help my sisters out at the nature preserve,” Derek replies, and his eyes glow with the same joy he always shows when he talks about the preserve. Stiles rests his chin as his palm as he watches Derek talk about the preserve because there is honestly nothing more amazing to watch than Derek when he’s passionate.

Scott immediately lights up at the mention of the preserve and he starts talking to Derek about vet school and his job at the local animal shelter with Deaton. Derek laughs and talks about how Deaton helped him rehabilitate a husky mix when he was nine years old. Allison seems to appreciate Derek’s love of wildlife and even Boyd manages to put in a few words about all the good that Laura and Cora do at the preserve. Isaac seems to look at Derek with open adoration and Stiles couldn’t be happier.

The only odd man out is Jackson. For some reason Jackson is a bit suspicious and Stiles thinks it must be a stupid alpha male thing- he only hopes that it doesn’t get out of hand. Thankfully Lydia is on hand just in case Jackson decides to be an ass but everything seems to be turning out wonderfully. Time flies too quickly for Stiles to realize what time it is until Lydia is checking her phone and suddenly moving to leave.

“Oh, it’s time to leave for the Rim already,” Lydia says, and Allison glances at her phone. Derek seems a little bit puzzled and Scott explains,“It’s the shopping district in the city. It’s about an hour’s drive away.” Derek nods, glancing at Stiles and smiling in an oddly forced manner, like he’s being avoided or something.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. We weren’t going to tell you because you drove _so_ far just to get here. We figured you’d want to stay in town and relax,” Erica says innocently, and by Jackson’s double-take that was not the case at all. Before he can say anything, though, Lydia quickly adds,“Yes. I’m sure you have plenty to _do_ anyways.”

Lydia’s smile clearly brooks no argument and Stiles can only watch with flaming cheeks as she sashays out the door with all of his friends in tow.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles manages to stutter, and it’s entirely unintentional, but Derek finds it funny and he laughs. Stiles can see Derek visibly relax and he suddenly realizes that Derek’s been tense the whole time. “Were you _nervous_?” Stiles asks incredulously, and Derek looks away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“No. I just- I wasn’t sure if they’d like me,” Derek says, running a hand through his dark hair. Stiles stares at him for a moment. _He’s perfect. That’s it. He’s just perfect._

“Of course they liked you! I don’t think it’s possible to _not_ like you!” Stiles exclaims, flailing somewhat as he tries to convey just how _wrong_ the idea of someone disliking Derek is. Derek glances at Stiles, and for some reason it doesn’t seem to be what he wanted to hear. Stiles frowns a little, leaning against the window as he regards Derek. “Besides, what does it matter? _I_ like you.” The confession probably isn’t much of a confession at all since Stiles is painfully obvious. It’s the truth, though, and for some reason Stiles _has_ to say it.

Derek smiles so suddenly and widely that it’s like seeing the sun come out from behind the clouds. His hand quickly rises to cover the grin on his face and Stiles is so high on the image that he doesn’t exactly think when her reaches to grab Derek’s wrist.

“Don’t do that! I like your smile. You should let people see it,” Stiles says, laughing brightly, and then he realizes that he’s holding onto _Derek_ and _holy shit Derek is blushing?!_ Stiles quickly lets go as if he’s been burned, and he’s almost certain there will be a red-hot mark on his palm to mark the event. Derek catches his hand, though, and the moment is so surreal that Stiles _feels_ himself disconnect as everything around them seems to fall silent. It’s like the whole universe has disappeared and there’s only the two of them sitting at a dinged-up table with coffee rings staining the wood.

“ _You_ see it,” Derek says, and his eyes are sparkling teasingly at Stiles and Stiles has never wanted to kiss someone more than he does in this very moment. Maybe Derek feels the same because he’s getting closer and they’re both leaning over the table a little bit and then the door to the coffee shop suddenly swings open and the bells ring and Allison’s voice suddenly comes out of nowhere and they jump apart. _For the third time._

“Sorry, I just forgot-,” Allison’s voice trails off as she takes one look at Stiles and Derek, who probably resemble two human tomatoes that can’t meet each other’s eyes. “Oh. Um. I left my jacket,” Allison provides helpfully, picking up the article of clothing hurriedly and waving her hands nervously. “Sorry! Sorry,” She exclaims, practically running back out the door.

It’s a few minutes before Stiles calms down enough to chance a look at Derek, who seems to be just as flustered. He clears his throat unnecessarily before smiling lopsidedly at Stiles. For some reason it’s incredibly funny and they both laugh a little.

“Um. It’s getting kind of late, and I have to get back to Laura to help out at home,” Derek begins, looking down at his interlaced hands. He seems to be contemplating something very important because his brows are knit and he’s frowning ferociously. Stiles holds his breath. “Do you…want to get lunch before I have to head out?”

It’s six words and they’re inconsequential compared to what Stiles _really_ wants, but right now they’re more than enough. So Stiles grins back at Derek and puts him at ease.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”


	4. (Window) Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes shopping for his quasi-date. While a the store he runs into an attractive stranger that seems very interested in Stiles. All is well and good, but Stiles starts wondering if he isn't staking everything on Derek liking him back.

Stiles is probably grinning like an idiot but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is that _he had lunch with Derek._ Stiles had lunch with Derek and it was great and they talked so much that Stiles’ food got cold but he couldn’t have cared less.

“Stiles! Tell!” Allison exclaims for what is probably the fifth time, and her sock-clad feet jab his sides with painful precision.

“Ow! Jeez! Okay, okay. Calm down,” Stiles protests, swatting her away halfheartedly. The grin is still plastered across his face and not even Jackson’s sneer is enough to make it waver. “So…we had lunch.”

Allison bursts into excited noises and flails in a way that would probably make anyone look stupid but her and Scott looks vaguely perturbed. Erica grins like the Cheshire Cat from her perch on the couch.

“So _that’s_ why you looked so happy. You have a go in the bathroom or something?”

Stiles splutters more than a little bit, face reddening, and Lydia frowns.

“No. He didn’t. You two haven’t even _kissed_ yet, have you?” Lydia seems entirely unimpressed by what she no doubt deems as Stiles’ inability to act on his feelings. It’s pretty unfair since Stiles considers- although childishly- that _Derek_ is the older one and _he_ should be the one making a move.

“No. I just…I kind of wanted…,” Stiles trails off, frowning, because there’s no way _not_ to sound selfish when what he wants to say is _‘I want **him** to kiss **me** ’._ Allison gives him a soft smile for a moment, and Stiles gets the feeling she’ll be the most sympathetic to his plight. Lydia is of the ‘get what you want’ mentality and Jackson obviously has no patience for Stiles’ love life.

“Well…make it so that he meets you halfway,” Allison supplies, reaching for the popcorn bowl in Scott’s lap. Stiles frowns a little because _what does that even mean_ and it’s pretty embarrassing that _Boyd_ is the one to snort in pity. “What I mean is, the next time you’re both… _feeling_ it, move a little faster than him. Speed it along, you know? Maybe he just needs to know that you’re as interested as he is.”

“Yeah, and how focused were _you_ when Scott first tried to kiss you?” Stiles counters, and a few kernels of popcorn land in his unruly hair. Lydia huffs impatiently at Stiles as she bites a strawberry Twizzler, twirling the candy between her fingers.

“Look. Just go for it. Do you _really_ think you can just keep being friends with him?” Stiles feels everyone’s eyes on him as he stares at the _very_ interesting carpet. _I hate it when Lydia’s right._

 

* * *

 

Tuesday morning comes and Stiles is too wired to sleep past eight a.m., which is worrying. Instead of lounging around the house he decides to get the shopping done for the spread he’s planned- tabbouleh, falafel, quinoa, chicken with tomato sauce and vegetables. For some reason Stiles is feeling adventurous and even though he’s terrified Derek won’t like the food part of him is excited to show off his cooking skills.

Stiles runs down the aisles at the grocery store happily, reveling in the near-emptiness. He’s definitely too tall to lean on the cart as it wheels down the tiles but that doesn’t stop him from going as fast as he dares. It’s because Stiles is going so fast that he almost runs over a man rounding the corner.

“Please don’t kill me. I don’t even know your name yet,” The man says, and his voice is decidedly rich and silky. Stiles doesn’t doubt that the guy’s default setting is ‘seductive’. The man is well-built and roughly the same height as Stiles. His eyes are a striking, dark blue that stand out against dark hair. _Drool-worthy. So drool-worthy. But way older than me._

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says immediately, a hand tugging worriedly at his hair. The man looks vaguely amused as he stalks towards Stiles- and he really does _stalk_ , like Stiles is a wounded gazelle or something. It’s borderline creepy, in a weirdly hot way. “I was just really excited about the tomatoes,” Stiles lies, and he almost cringes at the heavy sarcasm he’s exuding.

Sarcasm and dry wit are where Stiles feels at home but they’re typically not the best ways to communicate with other human beings. Especially disgruntled ones. The man doesn’t seem to mind, though- if anything his blue eyes sparkle with interest as he runs his fingers over the edge of Stiles’ cart. The gesture is strangely sexual- _everything_ about the man is predatory in an _‘I’ll fuck you against a wall and leave without a cuddle’_ kind of way.

“Tabbouleh. Those are the best tomatoes for it,” The man notes nonchalantly, but Stiles has immediately lit up once again. There is nothing he enjoys more than a good foodie. It’s probably because Stiles can consume obscene amounts of food when he actually remembers to eat and cooking is just plain fun.

“Yeah! I know! The regular ones are just too sweet,” Stiles says, grinning unabashedly. The man looks over at him again, this time a tad more appreciative. He rifles through Stiles’ items like they’re married and he’s just approving the decisions that have been made. The whole scene is all very surreal.

“And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” The man asks, picking up a container of curry powder and scrutinizing the label. His question is laughably posed but Stiles digs it because strange is something he can do. Strange is interesting.

“Stiles,” he replies, stretching a hand out across the shopping cart. The man’s lips twist into a smile that is kind but strangely shadowed in amusement.

“Peter.” _Nice name,_ Stiles thinks, and Peter’s handshake is firm. Something about him makes Stiles thinks he’s suffered before, a loss he’s never quite recovered from. Peter seems to direct the conversation, keeping all interest away from himself like he’s hiding behind his good looks and flirtatiousness. “So, Stiles. Do you have any plans for this feast you’re making?”

Stiles blinks and for a moment he feels crushingly ashamed that he’s been talking to some random, good-looking stranger while shopping for food he’s making for Derek. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s not terrible to appreciate Peter’s apparent knowledge of food, besides the fact that Derek isn’t really Stiles’ _boyfriend_. Besides, if Derek shoots Stiles down (which Stiles has been worrying about all morning) then at least Peter’s been showing obvious interest.

Stiles’ inner monologue is cut off when Peter’s phone suddenly begins to ring and the man gives Stiles an apologetic look and a “one moment, please” before answering it. Stiles busies himself with the cucumbers and tries not to listen in on the conversation.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Peter says, and he has the long-suffering tone of one that’s been asked the same question too many times. “Honestly, I don’t see what you’re so worried about. _Please_. Look, why don’t you just _kiss him_ already? No, no. Don’t give me that,” Peter snorts, and he looks over at Stiles with a ‘can-you-believe-this’ expression that Stiles grins and tries not laugh at. Peter seems to either think very highly of Stiles or he’s _really_ attracted to him (which is doubtful).

Peter starts to help Stiles pick out vegetables with a cocky wink that makes Stiles blush a little too hard. _Bad. Stop it._ “Look, I have to go. I have a _very_ alluring young man waiting for me here and I can’t spend every morning trying to make you see the error of your ways,” Peter says in a voice that clearly says he’s tired of the conversation before he hangs up unceremoniously. Stiles raises his eyebrows a little, still red from the offhand compliment Peter made.

“Sounds like you’re not too fond of this person with no initiative,” Stiles comments, knotting the end of a bag of lemons around his fingers expertly. Peter watches his hands for a moment, smiling distractedly.

“Well, my nephew can be very trying,” Peter responds, mirroring Stiles’ movements with the bag of limes he collected. Stiles is incredibly picky about choosing his produce but he doesn’t even consider replacing the limes or getting another bag. Peter seems to know his stuff and he’s fun to talk to besides.

“I’m sure you’re a great uncle, though,” Stiles replies, laughing a little bit because Peter doesn’t seem like he’s an uncle. Peter smirks, turning to pick up basket, and then Stiles sees it. The skin of Peter’s right ear is burned, the scar trailing partway down the side of his neck, and it’s barely noticeable because of the dark edge of his hair. Stiles knows an old scar when he sees one, though, and by the looks of it Peter probably suffered a lot of pain.

Stiles is suddenly hit by a memory of white hospital walls and the smell of antiseptic; an apologetic voice. _I’m sorry, baby. I must’ve been more tired than I thought._ When Peter turns around Stiles isn’t ready, still lost in the memory for a moment, and Peter’s expression seems to shut down for a minute.

“Not a very attractive accessory, is it?” Peter says dryly, and his eyes are cold. He seems to have mistaken Stiles’ distance for disgust and Stiles quickly jumps to correct the error.

“No. But I think even just your eyes probably make up for it,” Stiles says boldly, lifting his chin challengingly. _I’m not what you think I am. You don’t know me._ Peter takes a moment to appraise Stiles, eyes searching his face for something. A smirk finds its way onto his face again.

“Oh, darling. I’m so glad you like my eyes,” Peter says mirthfully, and Stiles flushes a little bit. “Personally, I think my ass takes the cake.”

Stiles snorts derisively at Peter, rolling his eyes and wheeling past him. Peter follows with a smile that seems a little bit more real than the one he’d been wearing before. A quick glance at the cart tells Stiles that he has everything he needs and he heads towards the checkout, trading cheeky remarks with Peter the whole way.

“So about your cooking,” Peter begins, leaning against the checkout in a way that has the cashier girl one aisle over staring. Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, shaking his head at the pose.

“I can’t today. My dad-,”

“No problem,” Peter interrupts smoothly, as if he was expecting the answer. In fact, Stiles thinks he’s sort of _happy_ , and for a moment he wonders if he misread Peter completely. Peter chuckles at Stiles’ expression, though, and continues, “I’ve been working outdoors, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t make for pleasant company. Besides, I’d like to see you get dressed up,” Peter adds mischievously, and Stiles laughs.

“I’m sure you would,” Stiles replies, paying for the load while Peter does something with _Stiles’ phone. Which had been in Stiles’ **back pocket**._ “What-!” Peter grins, putting the phone back in Stiles’ pocket with a deliberately slow hand.

“I’ll be in touch,” Peter says, smirking as Stiles huffs in protest and collects his bags. _Jesus._

 

* * *

 

Stiles balances a bag of quinoa in one hand while adding curry powder to one of the two pans crowding the stovetop and crouching to look through the window of the oven. The whole scene carries an air of precariousness, and if Stiles were clumsier it would probably be a disaster zone. Stiles is so focused on multitasking that he almost doesn’t notice when John appears in the doorway.

“You okay, buddy?” John looks into the kitchen with the unsure confusion that typically colors interactions with his son. Stiles has repeatedly teased his dad that his eyebrows will get stuck in an upwards curve.

“Yeah, dad. I’m good,” Stiles replies distractedly as he spins around the kitchen, brandishing a tomato and a knife. John nods, frowning a little.

“Well, I’m off,” John says, and Stiles grins and waves him off while he continues cooking. It’s almost six and Stiles is nervously awaiting Derek’s call. The encounter with Peter has left Stiles with a little bit more confidence than he’d already built up and he’s eager to see Derek again. Right on cue, Stiles’ phone starts ringing in his back pocket and he reaches for it while stirring the sauce that’s simmering on the stove.

“Hello,” Stiles answers quickly, glad that there’s no trace of nervousness in his voice.

“Hey, man. Have you- is he there yet?” Scott sounds nervous and Stiles snorts, cradling the phone against his neck so he can mix the sauce and chicken in a skillet.

“No, _girls_ , he’s not here yet,” Stiles answers back loudly. Allison laughs on the other line and Scott makes a small noise of pain- no doubt Lydia jabbed him in the side.

“Man. How could you tell?” Scott replies, and his tone is one of both complaint and respect. Stiles switches to speakerphone as he mixes the vegetables for the tabbouleh, wincing as lemon juice seeps into the edges of his fingernails.

“Dude, my dad’s a cop. And anyways, _you_ wouldn’t call me to ask about Derek,” Stiles replies, and he can almost _hear_ Scott’s pout. The image is amusing but not enough to keep Stiles interested in conversation, especially when he’s waiting for Derek’s call.

“Well…sorry. They made me,” Scott says lamely, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles replies dryly, and he gets a sudden idea to torture Allison and Lydia. “Well, I’m waiting for Derek to call, so I’m gonna hang up. And _maybe_ I’ll call later to tell you about the hot guy at the grocery store that was trying to invite himself over to my house for dinner.”

Allison and Lydia’s exclamations are loud even on speakerphone and Stiles grins, hanging up the call. _Serves them right._ The chicken and tabbouleh are done and the falafel in the oven is being kept warm. The only thing Stiles is waiting on is the quinoa, which is just about ready. Stiles worries for the millionth time that Derek won’t like the food but his worries are cut short when the phone rings again.

“Just tell Lydia and Allison no! I’m _not_ going to tell them about the guy at the grocery store that was hitting on me,” Stiles says immediately, dipping a spoon into the quinoa to check if it’s done.

“…what guy?” Derek’s voice is amused and it washes over Stiles like some sort of drug that makes him simultaneously hyperactive and frozen.

“Oh- hi. Derek. Um, nothing. It’s- I thought you were Scott. He just called me,” Stiles explains, hands fluttering nervously as he starts moving everything onto serving plates. Derek chuckles and there’s a noise like the phone is being shifted or moved. _Is he driving?_

“Well, I’m about to head over. I hope you don’t mind- the girls insisted on making a pie,” Derek says, and Stiles knows he’s probably grimacing in apology. Stiles laughs at the statement while he fills up a pitcher with water for lemonade.

“Nah, I’m sure…well, it should be edible, right?” Stiles jokes, and Derek laughs. Derek seems to think his sisters can’t cook and Stiles is inclined to trust his judgment.

“Yeah. Maybe. Well, I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way,” Derek says, and something in his voice makes Stiles pause. Derek sounds like he’s waiting for Stiles to make an excuse or rescind his invitation. _Maybe Allison’s right. Maybe he had a crappy relationship before and he’s just super cautious now._

“Great. I’ll see you in a few,” Stiles replies, and he infuses the statement with as much heartfelt excitement as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the stranger who you thought it was? I obviously really like Peter. I feel like he and Stiles would totally get along because they both kind of function as "outsiders" or "observers". Peter seems like an older/more sexual version of Stiles. Like, if Stiles decided to stop being so self-deprecating then he'd pretty much be Peter. Anyways! What do you all think? How will Derek react to Stiles' feelings? And does Peter know he's been flirting with the object of his nephew's affection?!


	5. Watching and Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the sort-of-date and Stiles is agonizing over whether or not he's got things right. There is falafel and Netflix involved and Stiles resolves to help Derek realize that yes, Stiles does want him.

Stiles is literally standing in the kitchen doorway like a runner getting ready to sprint for their life at the Olympics. Derek is on his way over to “hang out” and every second chips away at Stiles’ confidence like some sort of sadistic lumberjack. _What if he doesn’t like the food? Oh my god, was I too obvious? Is it overkill for two friends hanging out? Is that what he thinks this is? Or is it a date? **Is it a date and I’m not even dressed right?!**_

The small noise Stiles makes is akin to that of a dog tripping down stairs. He suddenly has the terrified realization that he’s wearing jeans and a forest green t-shirt that clings to his body and makes him stunningly self-conscious. He doesn’t get a chance to consider changing, though, because just as he has the thought there’s a knock on the front door.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles blurts, and he belatedly slaps a hand over his mouth. _Fuck! Did he hear me?!_ The evening hasn’t even begun and Stiles is already about to have a self-induced heart attack. In an attempt to regain some of his earlier confidence, Stiles forgoes all contemplation and strides over to the door without planning what he’s about to do.

“Hi,” Stiles says brightly, and he is immensely relieved that Derek isn’t all tuxedoed up. Although the sight would have been drool-worthy.

“Hey. I brought the pie,” Derek says blankly, and he seems to have forgotten what his purpose in life was because he grimaces faintly at the words he just said like he can’t believe them. Stiles laughs a little, moving aside to let Derek in.

“Cool. Promise me it’s not just roadkill you grabbed on the way,” Stiles jokes, toeing his shoes off in a planned move. He doesn’t want Derek to feel awkward and he makes the move offhand, as if he’d been about to take his shoes off anyways.

“No promises. My sisters like their meat,” Derek says, tone deadpan and eyebrow cocked in his signature style. Stiles snorts, taking the pie and leading the way to the table that’s laden with dishes. He’s suddenly nervous again but he tries to forget the feeling as he realizes something.

Derek is wearing dark jeans and an olive-colored henley that is distractingly well-fitted. It’s such a change from the uniform Stiles has always seen him in that he takes a moment to really _look_ at Derek. _Oh my god. He’s even hotter out of uniform,_ Stiles thinks, horrified.

“Whoa,” Derek says softly, and Stiles breaks from his reverie to see Derek gazing at the positively enormous spread of food.

“Oh. Ha. I don’t know what you like, but I had something planned for tonight anyways- we’ve got other stuff, too, I just-,”

“No. It’s great,” Derek says, and there’s a smile growing on his face. Stiles flushes and knots his fingers in his hair.

“Nah. Don’t say anything till you try it,” Stiles warns, grinning, but Derek snorts and takes off his worn leather jacket, draping it carefully on a chair.

“Please. Remember, my sisters are roadkill chefs. And I doubt you could make anything taste bad, or even worse than theirs.” Stiles laughs and hands Derek a heavy-duty disposable plate; he has plans that do not involve the kitchen table.

“I figured we can do some Netflix-ing with dinner,” Stiles explains, pouring lemonade. Derek nods, smiling faintly.

_This might just go really well._

 

* * *

 

“She’s annoying,” Derek notes, poking some falafel with a fork.

“I _know_. Megan is, like, a total roadblock to greater science.” Stiles almost drops the chicken on his plate as his hands flail. Derek looks amused at Stiles’ vehemence.

“Please warn me if you ever make a reanimation serum.”

 

* * *

 

“West is really short, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, he’s standing next to a giant. Kind of. There’s really only a three inch difference, I think.” Stiles smirks as Derek sinks back down onto the sofa with more quinoa. He seems to be addicted.

“Huh. Movie magic,” Derek concludes, and Stiles snickers.

 

* * *

 

“Jesus, that’s gross.”

“Dude. Dr. Hill is gross,” Stiles replies, shuddering as the screams from the television increase in volume.

 

* * *

 

When the movie ends Stiles gets up to put away the leftovers and Derek follows, determined to help. They’ve fallen into a comfortable companionship and Stiles is immensely relived. It feels as if they’ve known each other for years and it’s wonderful to not worry about what he’s saying. Derek seems to be a fan of horror movies, too, and it’s lucky.

“Would you ever use a reanimation serum?” Stiles asks, pulling plastic containers down from the cabinets. Derek frowns a little bit as he helps move food into the spotless boxes. Stiles has a thing about cleaning dishes right.

“I don’t know. It would have to be for a _really_ good reason. But I’d never use West’s. That’s just re _animation_ , not re…humanization,” Derek finishes, looking startled and displeased with his wording. Stiles laughs a little bit at the frown- it makes Derek look like a grumpy wolf or something. _No, sour wolf. Oh my god. Derek’s a sourwolf._

“Makes sense,” Stiles says, and he piles the containers expertly in the fridge, which Stiles also has a thing about. He has many “things” about food and the kitchen. They all help keep his dad eating healthy. “So what next? Do you prefer zombies, werewolves, or vampires? Or should we do something else?” Derek laughs as he twists the lid on the pitcher of lemonade.

“Well, I like werewolves. But we can try something else. You watch _Supernatural_ too, right?”

 

* * *

 

“So Misha acting as…Misha?” Derek smiles, amused. Stiles snorts.

“I dunno. It could just be him. Like, that’s how he is,” Stiles replies, snickering.

 

* * *

 

“Woooow. Winchester logic.”

“Winchester logic?” Derek’s confused sourwolf face returns. Stiles wishes he was brave enough to snap a picture.

“Yeah. Like, I was hungry. Now I’m not. Kind of.”

 

* * *

 

“Dude, he _knows_ about personal space. He just obviously doesn’t care.”

“You think so?” Derek asks, and he seems to be hanging on Stiles’ answer. It’s odd, but Stiles doesn’t consider it too much because that would just make things confusing.

“Yeah. I mean, they have a bond. Maybe it’s only half-developed or one-sided or something, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I think he’s trying, in all his virgin angel glory, to make Dean see that.” Derek looks back at the screen but he seems to be looking _through_ , not _at_ it. Stiles desperately hopes that was the right answer.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to try the pie?” Derek asks after three episodes. He grimaces as if he’s asking out of courtesy and Stiles laughs.

“Well, I’m curious. Besides, I like to try everything at least once.”

“One time may be enough to kill you,” Derek warns, but he’s chuckling as they get up to go inspect the offering. Stiles opens the oven and feels a gentle wave of heat as he pulls out the pie, inspecting the awkwardly lumpy crust. Derek palms his face and Stiles bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

“Well, let’s see. You want milk? Water?” There are two plastic cups left on the counter and Stiles rinses them out with hot water and soap.

“We might need something stronger for the taste,” Derek jokes, and Stiles snickers. “Whatever is fine. Just as long as I can wash my mouth out with it.”

Stiles laughs and pulls some chocolate soymilk out of the fridge. It’s an addiction he indulges and it might come in handy if the pie really _is_ terrible. The serving knife shines wickedly under the kitchen lights as Stiles cuts two slices.

“Hmm. This appears to be…cherry?” Stiles wonders aloud, cleaning off the knife. It _is_ a dark color, with lumps that are vaguely round. There is a red sheen to the syrup and Stiles is a little less worried than he had been before. It can’t be _that_ bad.

Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles and they raise their forks in a silent cheer before the first bites.

Stiles’ first impression of the pie is that Derek’s sisters used some _really_ sour cherries. The filling is incredibly tart and it makes Stiles think of the bloody- and white-colored cherries in the basket that aren’t quite ripe yet. The pie crust is expectedly uneven and there are some spots that are sweeter than others.

Stiles looks up to see Derek making his sourwolf face and he can’t contain his laughter.

“It’s not bad, really,” Stiles says once he swallows, and Derek gives him a withering look. “No, really, I like that it isn’t over-sugared. That’s typically the issue. It’s cool. And pie crust is hard to get sometimes.” Derek laughs a little bit, fingers sliding against his cup.

“You’re too nice. But I guess their desserts are better than their actual food. I can only imagine what they’d say about your cooking,” Derek adds, smirking. Stiles flushes a little bit but manages to keep his composure.

“I’m sure they’re sweeter than their pies, if their older brother is anyone to go by,” Stiles teases, putting the pie in a plastic container. He’s excited to see what happens when his dad tries to eat it. Derek looks thoughtful for a moment as he looks at Stiles and Allison’s words swim through Stiles’ head like some sort of cheap movie trope. _When you’re both feeling it, move a little bit faster. Push him along._

Stiles takes a deep breath and moves a little bit closer to Derek, trying to be nonchalant. They’re both standing by the table and the lighting between the dark living room and the bright kitchen lights middle out dimly. _Well, it’s not candlelight, but it’ll have to do._

“You’re too nice. You’ve never met them,” Derek says, laughing softly, but his words don’t match his expression. He doesn’t seem to be thinking about his sisters. Stiles grins, biting his lip and watching giddily as Derek follows the movement.

“I have fair indication. If you lived with them and this is how you turned out, they can’t be bad at all,” Stiles teases, looking sidelong at Derek through his lashes.

“I’m that great?” Derek asks, a little bit sarcastic, but there’s something wondering in his voice. _Someone trashed you, didn’t they,_ Stiles thinks sadly. _Someone used you and then laughed in your face afterwards._

“You _are_ that great,” Stiles says, and he is completely serious as he tries to make Derek understand. He doesn’t even care about being _with_ Derek until this is resolved. Derek is wonderful and he doesn’t deserve all of this residual self-doubt and hate that he carries, hidden away from everyone else. Stiles’ words seem to have an effect, the way Derek is standing losing some tension and the defensive coil he’d always seemed to have slipping away.

The change is startling, but not as startling as the hand that tugs Stiles around to face Derek completely. It’s the first time that Stiles has been face-to-face with Derek and not completely worried about the outcome. Derek is moving slowly, a hand resting on Stiles’ hip, and it’s like he’s still asking permission for everything.

 _I can move it along,_ Stiles thinks to himself, and he takes the leap and rests his hand against the back of Derek’s neck. Derek is warm and Stiles has the fleeting, odd thought that Derek must have a high metabolism or something. They are _so close_ and Stiles is teetering on the edge of the anticipation he’s feeling until the distance suddenly, without warning, closes.

Derek’s lips are warm, too. In fact, they feel like they’re burning against Stiles’ mouth and it’s a fire that he’d welcome even if it were to consume him. As far as kisses go, it’s not the mess of a teenager or the afterthought of a single-minded college kid. It’s soft and careful but utterly loving. It’s not the kiss of someone who wants a fuck. It’s kind.

The kiss feels like something lasting and Stiles feels like he’ll be carrying it with him for the rest of his life. It feels like a seal, a stamp that marks both the beginning and the end of something. It’s a transition, and it’s one Stiles has been awaiting for what seems like a lifetime.

Somewhere in the distance Justin Timberlake starts singing SexyBack.

Stiles is utterly confused and the haze breaks as he and Derek part, breathless and equally bewildered. The remnants of the kiss are burning against Stiles’ mouth and nothing makes sense.

Stiles and Derek realize at the same time that it’s Derek’s phone. Derek makes a strange noise that sounds like both an “um” and an “oh” before he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. Stiles isn’t physically capable of doing anything other than standing there, waiting.

“Hello,” Derek answers, and his voice is husky. He lowers the bottom of the phone and coughs into his hand nervously. It’s both amusing and horrifying in a sympathetic way when Derek’s face morphs from pleasantly clouded to “sourwolf”. “No. _No,_ I c-,”

Derek fruitlessly tries to deny the caller and Stiles wonders what he’s being asked to do.

“O- Okay. _Okay_ ,” Derek growls, and Stiles feels pity for the caller until he remembers what they interrupted. _Nope. No pity._ Derek sighs, a long-suffering sigh that strangely reminds Stiles of Peter from the grocery store, and hangs up. There’s a moment of awkward silence.

“I’m sorry,” Derek starts, a hand running roughly over his face, and Stiles bites his lip to stop the grin spreading across his face.

“I’m not,” Stiles replies impishly, grinning, deciding now is not the time for moving slow. Derek colors a little and Stiles feels a roar of triumph echo in his chest. _SCORE._

“Well. I didn’t mean _that_ ,” Derek replies, and his blush compliments the smile that twitches onto his lips. “That was my uncle. There’s a minor emergency at home. I’m sure it involves dinner,” Derek says, the long-suffering tone present once again.

Stiles contains his laughter, nodding as his smile threatens to tear his cheeks. They hurt too much already. He turns to the fridge and slides a few choice containers out, loading them all into a reusable bag. Derek looks surprised for a moment.

“We can’t let them go hungry, now, can we?” Stiles teases, and Derek laughs.

“They’d deserve it,” Derek murmurs, and he leans closer for a second, shorter kiss. It’s just as perfect as the first and maybe even better for the way their faces are mirror images, goofy and grinning afterwards. Stiles bites his lip as he walks with Derek to the door, holding the food as Derek slips on his shoes. _Oh my god, this is like a scene from a married couple’s life._

Derek pauses in the doorway for a moment and looks back at Stiles, eyes soft and full of so much love that Stiles wants to cry. It’s all surreal and Stiles feels like he should pinch himself.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, then,” Derek says, and he suddenly sounds unsure again, as if he doesn’t know whether things are what they seem to be.

“I’ll try to hold out until then,” Stiles replies mischievously, and Derek snorts, a grin once again tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And what about you? One for the road?” _Oh, god, that was terrible. So bad. Bad._ Derek laughs when he kisses Stiles, though, and it’s an experience that bears repeating. It’s strange and wonderful and Stiles can’t believe that Derek would oblige.

“Third time’s the charm,” Derek says, deadpan, winking as he makes his way out to his car. Stiles laughs the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long break! I'm on my last week of finals and I agonized over this chapter as much as I did my American Lit paper. I hope you liked it! And it's probably obvious, but can you guess what the movie they saw was? And which episodes of Supernatural they watched? As always, read/review/like!


	6. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini-Chapter: Stiles gets a date interrogation from some of the gang and he comes upon a startling revelation. There is also some dorky/sexy texting.

By the time Stiles had gone to bed that night he was flying higher than Superman. Stiles’ dad had predictably tried to sneak a slice of pie and ended up exclaiming loudly and immediately pestering Stiles to find out what had gone wrong. Stiles had climbed into bed, ready for pleasant dreams, when his phone buzzed- a new text notification ringtone sang out ‘SexyBack’ from beside his pillow.

_Sorry about that._

_Stiles grinned at Derek’s message as he turned over onto his stomach, arms stretched over his pillow as he replied to the text message._

_No prob. I totally get it. Demanding family ;p_

_Yeah. Looks like my sisters destroyed the paint job in the kitchen._

_Lol wooow I’m sorry. I’d totally help you repaint though_

_That so? You’ve been drafted then._

_Yes, Officer. Will it count as community service?_

_Have you committed a crime I don’t know about?_

_I might have. What do you think?_

_Stealing a heart doesn’t count._

_Stiles reread the text three times before he smashed his face into his pillow and squealed in a very un-manly manner, rolling around his bed a few times before quickly responding._

_Oh, my! Are you implying that I am a thief? I seem to recall a certain someone stealing a kiss._

_It’s not stolen if both parties agree on the exchange._

_So if you put it that way, then I haven’t stolen a heart. I’ve just exchanged one for another._

_Maybe so. Can’t blame a guy, though. You do have a perfect heart._

_You have a perfect everything._

_You shouldn’t lie after the first date._

_And I didn’t, did I? Although that’s probably just because your uncle interrupted us._

_Stiles, are you being suggestive?_

_I’m about as suggestive as a baseball bat. You’re going to have to be clearer. Explain to me what exactly you’re thinking right now._

_I didn’t know you were such a philanderer, Stiles._

_Oh, big word. I love it. Very masculine of you._

_Did you drink something after I left?_

_Would you arrest me if I said yes?_

_I’m not sure. Would you fight back?_

_Maybe. If I did would you handcuff me?_

_You’re ridiculous._

_You’re still texting me._

_I guess I’m too attached to criminals._

_Good thing. I’m planning a covert op. Wanna help with an extraction?_

_If that’s another dirty joke I’m giving up._

_No, really. Scott called earlier to plan a “hang-out session”. I know it’s really Allison and Lydia trying to get the dish on our date._

_Ah. You want to ditch them?_

_That’s the plan. I was thinking we could have some fun._

_Sounds cool. How long do you need?_

_We meet at the diner tomorrow at eleven. Stop by at about eleven fifteen and we’ll be gone in ten minutes._

_Sounds like a plan. I’ll wear my uniform._

_I do love my men in uniform._

_Good night, Stiles._

_Night, Derek._

 

* * *

 

Stiles shifts anxiously as he watches the light turn from yellow to red. He’s a little bit anxious and unreasonably nervous about seeing Derek again. The kiss is playing through his head like the tape he got stuck in his dad’s cassette player when he was six. Stiles knows that Lydia will know as soon as she sees him and the thought is making him even more nervous. Part of Stiles is worried he’s hallucinated the whole thing but he keeps glancing at his phone to see Derek’s good night message.

The diner is small and familiar and the waitress smiles at Stiles and waves him to the left where his friends are waiting. Stiles heaves in a deep breath before trying to casually slide into the booth next to Scott. Isaac is already devouring french fries across the table but Lydia is gazing at Stiles unfailingly.

“So how was it?” Allison asks immediately, sipping from her apple juice. Stiles rests his chin in his hand, perusing the menu with a careless, sweeping glance.

“Good,” Stiles says, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible. Lydia narrows her eyes from across the table and Stiles feels like the left side of his face is burning. Isaac looks at both girls with vaguely wide eyes, chewing a wad of french fries slowly as he tries to understand the silent communication that’s going on. Jackson looks just as uninterested as ever.

“So he kissed you,” Lydia concludes, leaning back and crossing her arms. Stiles makes a frustrated noise as he rubs his hands over his face, trying not to be too obvious as he looks at his watch. _Only 11:05?!_

“Yes, Lydia, he kissed me. Why are you-,”

“Oh my god!” Allison exclaims excitedly, and her eyes positively light up with joy. It would be appalling if it were anyone else, but Allison is…well, Allison. Stiles can’t really get mad at her but he can be as grumpy as he wants.

“What’s the big deal? Jeez,” Stiles complains, glaring sourly at his glass of Coke. Scott winces apologetically but Stiles has no sympathy for him. It’s his fault they’re all here.

“Finally,” Lydia says, sounding pleased with herself. “Details. Now.”

“No. No details, and definitely not now. I’m about to eat,” Jackson cuts in, and for once Stiles is glad for the snark. Lydia gives him a look, however, and Stiles feels like he’s generally being attacked with mental warfare and subtle threats.

“Fine. It’s no big deal. We were just hanging out and I made food and we watched some Netflix and he kissed me. And then he left, he had to go, his sisters destroyed the kitchen at home or something,” Stiles adds, running as quickly as possible through the day’s events. Isaac’s brow furrows at the last part and he seems vaguely confused, so for his benefit Stiles explains, “Cora and Laura suck at cooking. His sisters.”

“Is that so?” Lydia asks, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised in a way that suggests she knows more than Stiles does about something she shouldn’t. It’s frustrating and Stiles has ten minutes to survive before Derek arrives.

“So how was it?” Allison asks breathlessly, leaning over the table to see Stiles past Scott’s bewildered face.

“Wha- well…ah-,” Stiles begins, but his words stop before he can complete a sentence. _What am I supposed to say? I didn’t know it could feel that good to kiss someone? I had never wanted anything as badly as I wanted that kiss? It felt like he loved me, actually loved me, and I was completely blown away by that?_

“Oh my god. You love him,” Lydia looks surprised, maybe even blown away, and while half of Stiles is triumphant the other half is terrified.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles says, swallowing hard. The buzz of Derek’s kiss, the ghost of his lips, the way he can’t stop thinking about him. Everything comes rushing back in a wave of overwhelming feeling. Isaac’s hand has stopped halfway to his mouth, a french fry suspended in midair. He clears his throat and adjusts his position, carefully moving his food closer to him.

“Well, now’s a good time to tell him,” Issac says, deadpan, and Stiles feels his jaw drop and his color start to drain. He nearly gets whiplash as he looks back to see Derek’s car pull into the parking lot.

“No! This- not now! Oh my god! This is- we were- we were gonna go somewhere, now what do I-?!” Stiles is panicking, his hands flailing uselessly, and he can feel the edges of a panic attack begin to creep into his sight. There are spots of red and the thumping of his heart in his ears is threatening to drown out the rest of the world.

“Stiles. Calm down,” Scott says evenly, and suddenly his hands are on Stiles’ arm and they’re grounding him. Jackson is staring at Stiles with an unreadable expression and Allison looks worried.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Take some time. We’ll tell him something if you want.” Derek is walking to the front door and Stiles watches him for a minute, taking everything in.

Derek looks confident. He walks with purpose, as if he knows where he’s going and there’s no reason to worry. His uniform fits him well but he wears it with care, not as some sort of proof of entitlement or power. But there’s something different about him today.

“He’s smiling,” Stiles says, and he didn’t mean to but he’s a little bit shocked and something suddenly clicks in him. Derek doesn’t full-out smile. He’s polite, and he gives polite smiles, but the grin he’s wearing today is different. Derek is happy and Stiles did that. Stiles huffs out a little laugh, shaking his head dazedly. Suddenly he can’t remember why he was so nervous in the first place. Derek is approaching the table and his eyes are gorgeous and he is perfect and Stiles can’t imagine ever falling in love with anyone else and so he does what seems logical to him at the moment.

Stiles stands up, steps forward, and kisses Derek right in the middle of the diner- because it’s not really the diner, it’s their life, and Stiles can kiss him so he does. Derek is surprised when Stiles pulls him by his belt but the surprise quickly dissipates and he returns the kiss instead, and god it’s good. There are a few wolf-whistles from god knows who and the background noise suddenly reminds Stiles where they are and the fact that all of his friends are watching. Stiles breaks away grudgingly but he’s kind of extremely embarrassed.

“Umm…,” Stiles manages, but Derek just looks dazed for a minute, lips still slightly parted and face pleasantly flushed. It’s a tempting sight but thankfully Allison breaks the silence by giggling into her hands and then she’s joined by Stiles, who laughs brightly because it’s a very typically Stiles act. Unexpected and maybe not ideal but effective. Very effective.

“Um. I- sorry, I know I’m…early,” Derek manages to say, his smile slowly creeping back as he glances at the table, his hands still resting on Stiles’ arms. “Was the conversation that bad?” Isaac snorts, shoving more french fries into his mouth and Lydia looks smug, but Stiles ignores them in favor of Derek.

“You have no idea. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the delay! I've been crazy busy with my sisters and picking up/dropping off at school as well as grad party planning and stuff. Here's something short I had time to do, but I'll def be posting more!


	7. Calling You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to come up with a substitute plan and ends up going to Derek's to help paint the kitchen. It might just be the perfect way to spend time alone with Derek, and Stiles has something important to say. There are a few problems, though- and their names are Laura, Cora, and Peter.

Derek still looks vaguely dazed and confused as he starts to drive out of the parking lot of the diner. Stiles feels a little bit sorry for him until he realizes he has to come up with a change of plans, and fast- a confession is the first thing on his mind but he doesn’t want to screw it up by botching something at the last minute.

“Where are we going?” Derek asks, and his startled tone makes it clear that he hasn’t really been paying attention since Stiles kissed him. Stiles laughs a little bit, glad that Derek at least seems to like Stiles enough as a…boyfriend? _Is that what we are? How do I know?_

“Well-I figure we can pick up some paint and redo your kitchen,” Stiles blurts, and he has _no idea_ where the crap idea came from but it’s already out there in the air and he feels immediately unromantic and stupid for saying it. Derek blinks in surprise but thankfully snaps out if it after a few seconds.

“That’s actually perfect. I didn’t really mean to make you help me out, though-,”

“No, no,” Stiles interrupts, grinning because he’s tremendously glad that his stupid idea wasn’t immediately shot down, “I owe you. It’s my fault they tried to make dinner without you.” Derek snorts at the sentiment, but he’s still smiling as he pulls up to the store so they can pick out paint.

 

* * *

 

They’re halfway to Derek’s place when Stiles realizes he’s wearing the same thing he threw on in the morning with intentions of changing- jeans that fit more skinny than before he left for college (thanks to surprising muscle development) and a grey t-shirt that’s too loose and shows of too much of his collarbone. Thankfully he’s wearing a red hoodie to cover up the shirt but it’s getting hot and they’re supposed to be painting.

“I can’t see your sisters dressed like this!” Stiles squeaks before realizing just how girly he sounded. Derek coughs back a laugh, glancing at him with eyes brimming mirthfully.

“They won’t care. Here,” Derek says distractedly, reaching a hand over to mess with Stiles’ overgrown hair. “Better. They like messy hair,” he explains, which makes absolutely no sense.

“What, they like messy hair? What does that even-?” Stiles flounders a bit, suspicious and not a little bit sure that Derek is just trying to make things worse.

“I’m not joking,” Derek says, laughing in an unconvincing manner. “They do. They’re always going on about what’s-his-name…the guy in Star Trek,” he says, frustrated. “I don’t know. Laura is always taking about wanting him to grow out his hair or something because it looks good messed up.”

Stiles stares at Derek for a good 0.005 seconds before he loses his poker face and collapses into laughter. Derek protests loudly but they’re all empty words because Stiles _knows_ that he’s going to _love_ the visit.

 

* * *

 

When they get to Derek’s place Stiles feels simultaneously wired and stuck in slow-motion. _Oh god,_ Stiles thinks to himself, _did I forget my medicine? I think I forgot my medicine._ There’s no time to worry, though, because Derek is leading him through the front door and his sisters are right inside.

“Hey, Der, I didn’t blow anything up!” The loud statement sounds familiar, like an inside joke that’s become a traditional welcome. The girl sitting on the sofa has long, dark brown hair and is wearing workout clothes as she lounges sideways, reading a magazine. She doesn’t look up when they enter but before Stiles can try to say something she jolts suddenly, as if realizing he’s there.

“Whoa- oh my _god!_ ” The girl practically squeals, and when she jumps up Stiles begins to form the thought that this must be Cora. She looks relatively Stiles’ age and has a tough air about her. “Laura!” Cora practically screams, and Derek is beginning to protest loudly as the sound of bare feet approach rapidly.

Laura swings around the corner and Stiles is ready to walk right back out the door because _damn it_ the Hales are all unreasonably beautiful. Laura’s brown hair is curled about her face and she’s wearing a gossamer black tank top with skinny jeans that hug her curves perfectly. Definitely hot by all standards and the kind of woman who’d probably wear a black moto jacket no matter the season and never look wrong.

“Holy shit!” Laura manages, and she’s laughing into her left hand while holding up what suspiciously looks like a mixing spoon in her right hand. “Oh my _god_ , look at his _hair_!” Laura practically shouts, and Stiles is suddenly vaguely afraid. The girls are about ten decibels above normal human beings and basically twenty decibels beyond Derek. It’s something of a shock but Stiles prides himself on being adaptive and he’s missed his medication so his whole world is looking kind of off.

“So you’re Stiles,” Cora says, and Stiles isn’t sure when she came to stand three inches in front of him but he watches her compact form with mild interest.

“And you’re Cora, the sister that likes punching bags,” Stiles says, and he regrets the words that fly out of his mouth immediately. Derek looks vaguely alarmed but Stiles can’t stop because his filter is gone and he’s just praying to god that Derek stops him before he gets himself killed. “Please don’t punch me, I know I look squishy but I promise there are cupcakes in it for you if you don’t!”

Cora just snorts at Stiles’ rambling and she walks around him like he’s a horse or some sort of livestock up for display and purchase. It’s mildly uncomfortable but the feeling fades because his brain is racing from item to item and really having Derek’s sister staring at his ass doesn’t matter because _wow_ Laura’s got like a halo or something from the window behind her.

“I like your sex hair. You two have fun in the car?” Laura asks, winking cheekily at Derek. He starts to protest loudly, cheeks flushed, but Stiles can feel his mouth starting to open and it’s all he can do to sit back in a corner of his brain and watch with horror as the train wreck happens.

“Dude, no! His car is _way_ too nice for that. _My_ car, however…,” Stiles manages to slow himself down enough to quit the sentence before it goes places he doesn’t want to follow. Laura manages to fix him with a vaguely open-mouthed stare for a few seconds before she and Cora burst into peals of laughter, effectively killing Stiles’ heart rate during the lapse.

“I like him,” Laura says approvingly, waving her mixing spoon around. Cora hums noncommittally, frowning a little bit.

“I don’t know. He seems…a little more erratic than you mentioned,” Cora notes, raising an eyebrow. _Ah! Fuck! Fuck! Not good!_ Stiles panics a little bit but for the goodness of his hyperactive brain he realizes that Laura is his perfect out.

“You cooking again?” Stiles asks, fixing her with a squinty expression that seems to convey his worry over the idea. Derek looks positively pallid at the thought and Laura seems vaguely guilty before she raises her chin in defiance.

“I’m just making macaroni! It can’t be that-,” she never finishes her sentence because Stiles teleports (or feels like he does) across the room to snatch the spoon away and he practically sprints into the kitchen. The Hale siblings are left standing in the living area, wondering what happened.

 

* * *

 

Cooking is good for Stiles. It’s not exactly enjoyable but it’s not boring either so he can keep relatively level while making food. Without his medicine Stiles feels like an eight year-old all over again, friendless and awkward and annoying. It’s unpleasant and he’s worried he’ll screw something up so cooking is a fantastic out for the small amount of time he’ll be doing it.

The macaroni is out of a box but Stiles is an expert at “modifying” packaged food. He’s got milk, cheese, butter, sour cream, and cayenne laid out on the counter in a practiced circle as he stirs the pasta. Laura is perched on a backwards-facing chair, legs hugging the back comfortably. Cora decided to climb onto the counter despite Derek’s protests (Stiles senses a theme there) and is watching Stiles intently. Derek has resigned all control over his life and is in the process of unwrapping the painting supplies.

“So where are your pans?” Stiles asks, concentrating as hard as possible on not screwing anything up. The cooking seems to be working for the most part, but he has to find ways to keep his attention on the food- thinking of all the things that could be made with macaroni is not a long list.

“Under the oven,” Laura comments distractedly, watching as Stiles tosses the two cardboard boxes aside and starts timing the boiling water and pasta. The glass pan beneath the oven is literally dusty and spotted and Stiles wrinkles his nose briefly before going to wash it in the sink. “How long has it _been_ since you’ve used this?”

“Just…,” Cora begins protesting, but her apparent lack of even a month to base her claim on is evidence enough. Stiles snorts and dries the pan before going back to the stove. Laura watches with wide eyes as Stiles puts the stick of butter on the stove next to the pot, waiting for it to soften. Once it’s good he coats the pan generously around the bottom and edges. The pasta is done soon enough and he drains it quickly, running the cold water as he empties the pot.

“Wait, don’t you need the box?” Cora demands, frowning. Stiles snorts, emptying the cheese and other ingredients in the pot, eyeballing each item.

“No. Those instructions suck. They always call for too much milk and the amount of time it takes to cook the pasta depends.” Stiles mixes the pot expertly, adding the noodles and sprinkling in cheese as he finishes perfecting the macaroni.

“What’s the pan for?” Laura asks, resting her chin on the back of the chair. Stiles starts dumping the macaroni in, glancing at the stove.

“For baking it. It’s better that way. You got any breadcrumbs or bacon?” Laura and Cora spring into action, raiding the pantry and fridge before bringing back the requested items. Derek huffs in annoyance from his place behind Stiles.

“What, you listen to him but not me?” Derek asks, levering open the paint cans. Laura rolls her eyes at him dramatically and Stiles tries to stifle his snicker.

“Please. You never cook the macaroni with cayenne. _Cayenne_ , Derek. I don’t even know what that’s _for_.” Stiles snorts in an ungentlemanly fashion as he finishes the macaroni, topping it off and sticking it in the oven.

“It usually only takes twenty minutes but I’ll set it low so we can paint,” Stiles explains, ignoring the girls’ groans as they stare through the little window at the macaroni in the oven. “Come on, let’s do this!” Without a second thought Stiles tosses his jacket over the back of a chair, feeling relatively stable since he has a task to try and set his mind to. That is, until he notices _all three_ of the Hale siblings staring at him.

“What?!” Stiles demands immediately, simultaneously worried and exasperated. He doesn’t know what to think anymore but having three drama llamas with a penchant for eye-rolling in one space seems like a recipe for di-sass-ter. _Oh, fuck. Di-SASS-ter. Jesus, don’t laugh. DON’T LAUGH._ Laura breaks the silence by wolf whistling and Cora snorts into her hand, unladylike and uncaring.

“If you start making out with him, I’ll kick your ass, Derek,” Cora says, and Stiles frowns, looking to Derek for help. Derek is no help at all because he’s tomato red and studiously ignoring Stiles’ face. It’s only after a minute that he realizes his stretched-out shirt is hanging about his shoulders and revealing quite a lot of pale, dotted skin and collarbone. _Well, at least it can’t get any worse than this._

 

* * *

 

It’s a miracle that nothing _did_ get any worse, Stiles thinks to himself as he finishes painting the last bit of destroyed wall in the kitchen. It glows a buttery color now that warms up when the sun hits the room from the window and it seems to add a spot of sunshine to the otherwise (regrettably) plain abode. Stiles is certainly glad he came to help.

“Oh my god, Derek, can we keep him?” Laura asks, and her tone is bordering on reverential as she turns slowly to look at the flawless paint job they’ve done (but mostly it was Stiles and Derek). Derek snorts at her comment but his grin is like the sun when he gazes up at Stiles, who tries his best not to faint like a Victorian woman because he’s standing on a ladder.

“Can we eat now?” Cora asks, and Stiles laughs.

“Yeah. I’ll get it out of the oven,” he says as he looks around for potholders. The macaroni smells like heaven and Stiles feels like he hasn’t eaten in ages. Just as the girls are bringing out plates, his phone starts to ring. “Argh- I’ll be right back, babe, gonna go take this,” Stiles manages to rush out as he walks to the couch with his phone by his ear. He doesn’t notice the stunned look on Derek’s face or the way that Laura and Cora are hopping up and down, screaming silently.

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Stiles hisses, not caring who is on the other end.

“Um- Stiles?” Allison asks, uncertain. Stiles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. What’s up.”

“Sorry, I know you went somewhere with Derek- it’s just that I wanted to know if you needed your medicine, I’m passing by and I didn’t see you take any when we were at the diner.” _Oh, god bless Allison._

“Yes, yes- actually, I _need_ it, like, I should really get some _now_ , and I’m at Derek’s and I think I won’t stop talking unless someone interrupts me so-,”

“Got it. I’ll swing by to pick you up. Pass the phone to Derek?” Stiles skips over to Derek, who is apparently frozen on the spot as his sisters have a foodgasm over Stiles’ (albeit box-made) macaroni. Derek listens and hums every so often for a few seconds before a ‘thanks bye’. As he passes the phone to Stiles, he takes a deep breath.

“They’ll come on up for a minute, Lydia wants to say hi,” Derek says, smiling nervously. Stiles nods, pulling out a chair to sit down. He’s curious and Derek’s acting odd. _Did I say something? Was it something I said?_ “I guess they were in the area- she said they’re right down the street, something about shopping.” Laura and Cora exchange glances and giggles but Stiles doesn’t notice, too wrapped up in trying to figure out what’s wrong with Derek.

“This is _so_ good, Stiles,” Laura hums happily as she eats, devouring the macaroni with appreciative noises. Cora seems to like it, too, because she wastes no time in talking. It’s great and Stiles suddenly feels as if everything is crystal and calm and it’s wonderful and then there’s a knock at the door.

“That must be them,” Derek says, and he goes to open the door, Stiles in tow. Allison looks somewhat nervous but Lydia exudes confidence as she lets herself in, pausing to look critically at the space.

“Hm. Not quite as good as your dress,” she notes, tilting her head and wrinkling her nose at some invisible offense. Stiles coughs strategically and Lydia smiles brightly. “I guess you can’t have it all.” Stiles sighs as Allison politely thanks Derek and civilly makes her way to the kitchen where Lydia is already introducing herself. Cora doesn’t seem overly impressed but Laura looks a little more interested in Lydia’s powerful presence.

“So Stiles helped you with the kitchen,” Lydia comments, nodding approvingly at the paint. Derek smiles a little and Stiles shrugs at him. _Can’t argue with her. Best to learn to love the Lydia._

“Yeah. I like it,” Derek says, grinning at the glowing color. Allison nods appreciatively, glancing at the pan on the counter.

“And he made lunch. I’m starting to think we should swap boyfriends,” Lydia says, raising her eyebrows with a look full of enough sass to rival even three Hales. Stiles snorts, leaning against the counter.

“Whatever, Lydia. You _wish_ ,” Stiles jokes, smiling. Lydia will always be his first love but their relationship is cemented in the epic foundations of a great bromance. Kind of. Lydia lets her smile warm up a little bit but before she can reply the sound of the door echoes from the main area.

“Who ordered in? I know no one cooked-,” The voice stops as the man walks into the kitchen, taking in the gathering.

“Peter?” Stiles blurts, and he can practically _feel_ the eyes on him. Including Derek’s. Which _fuck. Derek._ Derek looks like he’s been stabbed and it’s not a good look on him. It’s probably the only one that doesn’t look good on him.

“Hellllooo,” Peter says slowly, smirking, and Stiles gets the feeling this will not end well.

 

* * *

 

Stiles’ world is crumbling around him and it’s not the best thing he’s ever felt. In fact, it’s probably the worst.

Derek looks like he’s been shot and thrown in the corner and Cora is positively _glaring_ at Peter while Laura switches a narrow-eyed gaze between Peter and Stiles. There is a cloud of tension that seeps into the edges of Stiles’ fragmented brain and all the colors are suddenly too sharp.

“How do you know him?” Laura asks calmly, but her voice is icy and Stiles isn’t sure who she’s talking to.

“I met him in the grocery store the other day,” Stiles blurts, and he knows his heart is racing too fast but Derek’s hurt expression is the only thing he can see right now. Derek looks like he’s about to go and Stiles wants to say something, anything, but Peter is one step ahead.

“It was a lovely coincidence, Derek. So is _this_ the one you’ve been attempting to kiss for weeks now?” Peter saunters over to the macaroni but the way he moves is calculated, as if he’s dealt with Derek like this before. Cora is still on edge but Laura relaxes a little bit, moving across the room to Derek’s side.

“Derek-,” Stiles begins, but Laura gives him a look and glances back at Peter, who seems disinterested but is undoubtedly eavesdropping. Lydia straightens up, reaching for Allison’s arm.

“Come on, Allison. We have to take Stiles back. Derek, why don’t you walk us down?” _Lydia Martin is a QUEEN,_ Stiles thought silently, sending her a grateful look. The girls walked ahead of them and Stiles watches Derek, tense as they left.

“I barely talked to him,” Stiles says quickly as soon as the door shut behind them. Derek seems to loosen up a little but his shoulders are still hunched a little.

“It’s fine. I didn’t- I was just-,” Derek stopped for a moment, running a hand over his face in frustration. Stiles feels a spark of indignation light in his chest.

“Hey. Look at me,” Stiles commands, stopping a few feet away from Lydia’s car. He feels his hands reach for Derek’s face before he realizes what he’s doing. Derek seems resigned and it is increasingly frustrating. “Do you really think I’m that lame?”

“What-,” Derek starts to protest, eyes widening in hurt and shock.

“Do you really think I’d do something like that to you? Derek, please. Look at me. I’m a skinny, pale, drugged-up kid that talks too much and likes researching werewolves at three in the morning. Why do you think I would _ever_ cheat like that?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to doubt you,” Derek sighs, relaxing into Stiles’ hands. _I can’t believe that he’s so used to disappointment and hurt._

“C’mon, Derek. Do you seriously think I’d cheat on you for your _uncle_? First of all he’s way older than me, and second of all he doesn’t have as nice of an ass,” Stiles adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he tries to keep a serious face. Derek snorts, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh. Stiles smiles a little, the pain in his chest easing.

“I just…I’m used to it, I guess. Disappointment. Or betrayal,” Derek adds, and his tone makes Stiles want to cry.

“Well, get un-used to it,” Stiles demands, fingers reaching up to grip the back of Derek’s neck carefully. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” He rises up on his feet a little, meeting Derek’s gaze before kissing him once, softly. He tries to put everything into the kiss- reassurance, promise, love. Stiles wants to make Derek understand he isn’t going anywhere.

Lydia’s clapping makes Stiles break away, huffing in annoyance. Derek laughs softly, and Stiles almost melts at the way Derek looks at him. _Like he **loves** me._

“Call me?” Derek asks softly, and Stiles grins, pressing a quick goodbye kiss to his lips.

“So much you’ll get sick of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who takes the time to comment! Sometimes I read your reviews when I'm feeling down in the dumps. Anyways, I felt like it was finally time to address the whole Peter/Stiles thing that I brought up before- it's nowhere near finished, but there was the first conflict! Also I don't know if I have Laura and Cora down yet but I figured in a (kinda) normal world they'd freak out over Derek's boyfriend. And I'm sorry there wasn't more Isaac! I think the next two chapters will probably be more development with Scott, Isaac, and Jackson especially. There are some things that need discussing!


	8. The Weight of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has news for Stiles. Derek and Stiles come to a turning point and the results could be disastrous.

Scott looks like a puppy and Stiles is struck by the bizarre scene.

“Dude, it’s just a highlighter. How messy _is_ it under your bed?” Scott makes whining noises from where he’s twisting around on the floor and Stiles is vaguely amused.

“It’s too- far- back-,” Scott growls, but his frustration makes the sound less threatening and more endearing. Stiles raises his eyebrows, biting his lip to stop the laughter bubbling up. There are four other highlighters next to Scott’s College Algebra textbook and an assortment of colored pens. Stiles feels both proud and amused that Scott’s been taking the advice on writing notes.

“Hey. Lemme see,” Stiles interjects, yanking on Scott’s ankles and laughing at his pout. The highlighter is barely visible and Stiles turns on his phone’s flashlight, reaching a pale arm towards the elusive marker. His fingers brush the marker and it moves; he huffs angrily and twists his head sideways, a tongue twisting in concentration as his spreads his fingers and lowers his open palm onto where he _thinks_ the highlighter is.

The shriek Stiles lets out is _very_ unmanly but Scott’s is just as bad.

“What?! What is it?!” Scott is shouting, eyes wide and motions panicked. Stiles convulses in horror as he scoots away from the bed, rubbing his hand on his jeans. There’s a sore spot from where his arm hit the metal railing on the bottom of the bed and there will undoubtedly be a bruise. Lying on the floor, covered in dust, is the discarded marker- and right beside it is a necklace, the silvery chain glinting in the light.

“Oh, my GOd,” Stiles manages to sputter, falling onto his back, heart still pounding. He rubs his hand over his face in frustration and Scott frowns, peering at the objects.

“What? That?”

“YES! It felt all gross and _cold_ , I thought it was a _creature_!” Stiles defends, and Scott snorts, leaning over the necklace to examine it. Stiles pushes himself upwards, curious. “What is it?”

“It’s Allison’s,” Scott says softly, pulling the chain from the floor. The medallion shines brightly and Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“She’ll be happy you found it,” Stiles snorts, returning his attention to the textbook. That should be the end of it, but Scott keeps fidgeting until Stiles finally gives up, sighing and leaning back against the dresser.

“What is it?” Scott twirls his soda straw guiltily at the question, looking away evasively.

“Nothing, it’s just…,” Scott trails off, biting his lip. Stiles frowns, grabbing a Twizzler, pulling it apart with anxious fingers.

“It’s what? What is it? You and Allison having problems?”

“No, no- it’s…,” Scott trails off, his “confused puppy” face appearing. “I want…to propose.”

Stiles inhales the Twizzler string and spends almost five minutes trying to choke it down.

“DUDE!!!!!” Stiles is a mess of flailing limbs, and he feels like his smile is breaking his face, but it’s worth it because Scott is grinning too, and he looks absolutely red-faced. “OH MY GOD WHEN?!”

“Shh,” Scott admonishes, glancing towards his closed bedroom door. Stiles suppresses a squeal, dropping to his stomach, miming zipping his mouth shut. He watches Scott with bright eyes, excited. “I was thinking that since she’ll have her associate’s at the end of the year, I’ll propose when she graduates.”

Melissa comes upstairs five minutes later to investigate Stiles’ screaming and jumping.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek is equally impressed by Scott’s plan when Stiles mentions it over lunch. They’re sitting in a tiny booth at the only Chinese place in town and Derek is wearing jeans and a wonderful grey v-neck. Stiles is excited and absolutely nothing can kill his buzz.

“I can’t imagine what it’ll be like,” Derek says mildly, but the corner of his mouth is pulled up and Stiles imagines it’s the closest thing to a grin he’s ever seen.

“I’m gonna be out by then so I’ll try and make it,” Stiles adds, grinning as he dips a spoon into his green tea ice cream. He’s almost so focused on the good news that he misses the way Derek dips his head, hiding a look that’s somewhere between despair and uncertainty. “What is it?”

Derek looks unsure, and his mouth opens halfway before he shuts it again, frowning. It would be adorable if Stiles didn’t feel a lump of dread forming in his stomach.

“I…you’re going back to school soon,” Derek says slowly, as if he’s still trying to figure out how to explain what it is he wants to say. Stiles waits, arms resting folded on the table. And then it hits him. _I’m going back. What about **us**?_ “I don’t want to keep you from doing what you need to- what you want to do,” Derek explains, and he looks tortured. Stiles feels his throat begin to ache as he realizes what’s happening.

“Yeah. Fine,” Stiles says, and his hand tugs at his hair in a familiar move. _I get it. This isn’t anything more. I thought it was, but it isn’t, and he doesn’t want what I do. He’s being nice and I need to just accept it._ Derek looks like he’s about to say something, but Stiles can’t stand it in the tiny booth so he just blinks furiously, trying desperately to keep his eyes dry. “Don’t- just don’t. Don’t worry. I’m fine. It’s fine,” he says quickly, and then he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is out of breath and his lungs are burning but the pain is nothing compared to what he’s feeling inside. He can feel the sting from where a branch snapped against his cheek and he knows his running shoes are covered in leaves and dirt but none of it matters. The trail he’s been running is almost empty in the day’s heat and the silence has been deafening.

There’s a noise behind Stiles that he doesn’t care about until someone speaks.

“What are _you_ doing?” Jackson is vaguely disdainful, as per usual, but Stiles barely cares at all. He has no strength left to fight. Isaac saunters up besides Jackson, sweaty but not out of breath, and Stiles feels miserable. The last thing he wants is to talk to anyone else.

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” Isaac ventures, puzzled, and he walks around to peer at Stiles’ face as he catches his breath, bent over with his hands resting on his knees. The sun is beating him down and he just wants to collapse and not get up again.

“Woah. Are you _crying_?” Jackson sounds vaguely panicked, and some small part of Stiles crows in victory, loudly urging him to snap a picture. The tears are shocking, though, because Stiles doesn’t remember allowing them to happen. In fact, he’s pretty sure that he’s never cried in front of his friends before. Ever.

“It’s- I-,” Stiles tries to start a sentence but his chest hurts from more than just exhaustion and he runs a hand over his hot face, sweat and tears falling to the trail. His legs feel like water and he slumps to the ground, animal sobs wracking his body as he tries to control the tears. Isaac is there in a second, long fingers reassuring against Stiles’ back. It grounds him, but the tether is starting to slip and he feels his vision get spotty as the edges of hysteria take hold.

“Stiles. Breathe,” Jackson commands, and Stiles wants to laugh because Jackson actually sounds _serious_ , which is funny, because he’s talking to Stiles, but the tears and panic are still holding him to the ground. “Come on, Stiles. Don’t make me do this,” Jackson says, and Stiles thinks that Jackson is actually _pleading_ , which is bizarre and _not okay_ , and then there’s a loud _SLAP_ and Stiles’ head snaps sideways, cheek stinging painfully.

“ _Ah,_ ” Stiles gasps, a hand flying to his face, but his breath has begun to level out and the spots are disappearing. Jackson looks vaguely freaked out but he hasn’t slapped him again, so Stiles concentrates on calming down. “Sorry,” Stiles manages, and he knows he must look broken and half-insane but it’s not like Jackson really _cares_ anyways. _Right?_

“What happened? Was it Derek?” Isaac is annoyingly perceptive, Stiles notices, and he flinches at the mention of Derek’s name. Jackson’s eyes narrow as he watches Stiles’ reaction, and then things get even more bizarre.

“What did he do to you?” Jackson is tense and angry, expression fierce. Stiles wants to gape but he’s still trying to breathe properly and his eyes are already too wide.

“He didn’t- he didn’t do anything to me,” Stiles says, and he hates his voice for breaking with unshed tears. “It’s-,”

“Not nothing,” Isaac says firmly, and he shares a look with Jackson, which is annoying because Stiles feels like he’s six again and his parents are conspiring against him.

“No, it _is_ nothing, it was _never_ anything!” Stiles forces out, angry at himself for falling, angry at the world for giving him what seemed like a perfect relationship. Angry at Isaac and Jackson for finding him like this. Jackson practically _growls_ and Isaac sends him a warning look before turning back to Stiles.

“Explain.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles has calmed down after a shower and he now has ample time to appreciate the Twilight Zone he’s somehow fallen into. Jackson and Isaac had guided him back through the trails, glaring at curious passerby, and they’d gone back to Jackson’s in his car. When they arrived Jackson had thrown a pair of sweatpants at Stiles and directed him firmly to the shower. Sometime while Stiles was washing away the blood, dirt, and sweat, Jackson had called Lydia, who had subsequently put Erica, Boyd, Allison, and Scott on standby.

It was barely four o’clock and Stiles was clutching a towel around his torso like a blanket, curled up on one end of the couch.

“So. Tell me _exactly_ what happened,” Lydia says calmly, and everything about her exudes patience and peace. Stiles shifts on the couch, not wanting to speak but knowing Lydia will make him talk eventually.

“He said he didn’t want to hold me back from what I wanted or had to do,” Stiles explains, keeping his voice level and impassive. “He’s being nice. He knows I’m going back to school and he’s just trying to give me an easy way out. Give _himself_ an easy way out.”

Lydia is silent for a moment, and then her expression begins to cloud over with anger and annoyance. Stiles feels himself sink back into the couch.

“ _Stiles_. You’re _smarter_ than this. Do you _really_ believe that?” Lydia rises from her seat, pacing a few steps to the side. “Or do you _want_ to believe that? I can’t _believe_ you! After all this time!”

“What do you _want_ me to do? He doesn’t care, okay? He doesn’t want it to go any further!”

“Oh, you are an _idiot_ ,” Lydia hisses, and she almost seems to be on fire. “Do you honestly think he gave you a choice because he wanted you to say _no_? He gave you a choice because he wants to know that you can say _yes_! We’ve already established that he’s obviously been hurt before, Stiles! He’s giving you an out because he feels like he doesn’t deserve you!”

“That’s stupid. I- why would he think that? I’m a _kid_. _Look_ at me, Lydia,” Stiles tries, and his traitorous voice breaks all over again. It makes sense, it all makes sense, but Stiles doesn’t believe it. He can’t believe that Derek would see him that way.

“You’re not making any _sense_ , Stiles! _Think_ about it!” Lydia exhaled, calming down as she walked around the table to sit on the other end of the couch. “You love him. Why can’t you believe that he loves you?”

 

* * *

 

 

The ceiling is immensely interesting to Stiles as he lies in bed, unable to sleep. It’s already three in the morning and he’s been thinking about Derek nonstop. _Was I wrong?_ Stiles can’t believe that Derek would think so little of himself. It makes no sense. Derek’s wonderful and perfect and _Stiles_ is the lucky one in the equation. _I need to stop thinking and just **do** something,_ Stiles thinks suddenly, and he jumps out of bed, hastily pulling his jeans back on before running down the stairs. It’s so early his dad won’t hear a thing and Stiles doesn’t even bother to worry about Derek’s sisters or uncle. He needs to see Derek _now_ , he can’t let this thing- whatever it is- die any more than it already has.

The streets are empty and Stiles breezes through the flashing lights, gripping the steering wheel with tense fingers. The cut on his cheek is still stinging, his cheek bruising in flowering shades of blue and yellow. He knows he looks like hell but none of it matters, not when Derek is sitting at home, alone, thinking that Stiles has left him.

Stiles barely notices when he pulls up to the loft, practically jumping out of his car as he runs up to where he knows Derek will be. Something gives him pause, though, and he looks up to see a dark figure outlined against the balcony. Stiles knows Derek can probably hear and see him coming, but he doesn’t care and he’s just climbing the stairs as fast as he can, heart in his throat.

“You thought you could get rid of me,” Stiles says, and the cool night breeze makes his thin shirt flutter. He knows his voice is unsteady, tears still inside fighting to make their way out. Derek turns, and his eyes are haunted, like he’s been beaten one too many times. He looks like he’s given up and Stiles is suddenly there, holding hope within arms’ reach.

“Stiles.” It’s an admonition, like Derek thinks he knows better. Like Stiles is doing something wrong for coming back. The tone makes Stiles bristle and he steps forward, anger and something else roaring in his chest.

“ _NO_. You do _not_ get to just waltz in and out of my life, Derek. You can’t do that to me. You don’t _want_ to.” Stiles is so close he can see the tears reflecting light in Derek’s eyes. He looks like he’s ready to break and it’s not okay, _none of this is okay_.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Derek begins, and he sounds almost like he’s trying to convince _himself_ and God, he sounds so much like Stiles it hurts.

“Yes it does,” Stiles says, and he’s quiet as he steps closer, so close he can feel Derek’s breath. It’s getting colder and Stiles can feel the metal under his bare feet, _knows_ this is it, this is the turning point. He’s whispering now, because the weight of his words can crush them.

“Do you want me, Derek?”

And Derek inhales, a large breath like he’s a drowning man and Stiles is the air he breathes. He blinks too fast, so much, so he can keep the tears that threaten at bay.

“Yes,” Derek breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my dad decided at the last minute that we should visit family from Friday to Sunday. I'm sorry! I was super bummed I couldn't post my chapter, but here it is! Think of it as a Moonday gift! This is a kind of heavy chapter, but I felt like it needed to be done. Derek and Stiles are both so concerned about family and others that I think they kind of down themselves. It's like a paradoxical thing, the way they love but don't believe they can be loved in return. Anyways! We'll see more of the aftermath next chapter, as long as more of the pack!


	9. The Best Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after (but not in the way you think) is quite possibly the best thing Stiles has ever experienced.  
> Or, the end of one story and the beginning of another.

_Neither of them move and for a moment they are frozen in time. Stiles, hair messy and cheeks stung pink with the cold wind, barefoot and shivering. Derek, his ever-changing eyes fading from pain to hope, arms crossed as if to contain himself._

Stiles is staring at the ceiling again, remembering.

_The stillness is broken as Stiles reaches up, fingers slipping around the back of Derek’s neck. He does not move, only waits. Stiles has always been the first to move. It is his turn to wait. If Derek wants it, he has to say so. He has to **show** Stiles. He has to **tell**_ _him._

Stiles shifts in bed, feeling the arm at his waist move reassuringly against his side.

_“I want you, Stiles.”_

Derek’s arms are warm and Stiles breathes in, lips brushing Derek’s neck. The loft is quiet and the window glows a pale, blue-grey twilight.

_Stiles sighed as Derek held him. It would be hard, but they had finally admitted what they wanted and that was the first step._

_“You’re shivering,” Derek said, suddenly, and he looked worried. “Stiles, you’re not wearing shoes!”_

_“Yeah. Sorry,” Stiles said sheepishly, blinking in sudden exhaustion. “I was in a hurry.”_

_“Let’s go inside.”_

It could have gone further. Maybe it would have, but Stiles was tired and Derek knew it. They were silent as they climbed in to bed, Stiles carelessly tossing his jeans aside with little thought. The bedroom was cool as they lay in the dark and Stiles watched Derek’s face, lit with blue moonlight.

_Derek’s hand came up to brush Stiles’ cheek, fingers hesitant. Stiles winced a little at the touch, the bruise that was forming sore and tender._

_“Jackson slapped me.” Derek’s gaze was suddenly thunderous and Stiles blinked, quickly rushing to explain himself. “I was…starting to get a panic attack.”_

_Derek’s mouth moves but the word never leaves his lips. He knows why, and his face twists with immense sorrow and shame before Stiles reaches out blindly, feeling the scratch of Derek’s cheek._

_“It was actually kind of nice. I didn’t know he cared.” Stiles huffs a tired laugh at the absurdity of the statement and Derek’s eyes soften, a regretful smile twisting his lips. They are silent, appraising, and Stiles thinks it might be the most profound moment he’s ever experienced, save his mother’s death. It feels like one of those moments he’ll never forget; a moment he will look back on and think, ‘this is when things changed’._

“I didn’t think you liked waking up early,” Derek says, and his voice is scratchy and slow from sleep. Stiles smiles, feeling the pulse beating against his lips.

“I made an exception for the view,” Stiles teases, equally rough-sounding from their late night. Derek smiles, lazy and unreserved, and Stiles feels his heart pound thunderously in his ears. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love like this before, reckless and excited. It’s terrifying and awesome just how much he believes that just being with Derek all his life is the only thing he needs to be happy.

“Hey, Der, wake up!” Laura’s voice rings out as her footsteps approach, and Derek’s head jerks up from the pillow as he looks towards the door behind Stiles. Stiles makes a small squeaking noise, too groggy to flail, and then he hears the door open behind him.

“Oh,” Laura says, and from the sound of her voice Stiles would say she’s pleasantly surprised. “Never mind! You might need the sleep,” she says cheekily, winking. Derek growls and throws a pillow at the door which Laura deftly avoids. “By the way, cutie- you don’t have to use the window, that’s one of Derek’s bad habits. We have a nice front door.” The next pillow that sails past manages to smack the door as Laura retreats, giggling devilishly.

“No doubt she’s about to announce it all to Peter and Laura,” Derek mumbles from where he’s buried his face in the bed. Stiles watches him for a minute, dumbstruck, realizing that Derek is actually _blushing_.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says blankly, because he can feel the grin stretching his face painfully and he just _knows_ this is going to be the best thing ever. Derek looks up at Stiles, still red, and Stiles takes the opportunity to practically jump on Derek, kissing him unabashedly despite any worries of morning breath. And Derek just smiles, fingers tracing the edges of Stiles’ waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world to make out with a college kid at six in the morning.

“Well, _this_ is cute,” Peter snarks from the doorway, and Derek growls again, reaching blindly for the last pillow on the bed. Stiles doesn’t even care; he’s too determined to find out just how fantastic making out in the morning can be. Peter laughs as he leaves the room, saying something to Laura and Cora, and Stiles looks down at Derek, imagining that their wide smiles match.

Derek laughs as he pulls Stiles back down for another kiss and Stiles begins to think that _this is going to be the best thing in my life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, guys! It's been the longest fic I've ever written and half the time I barely knew what I was doing, but this is where this part of the story ends! Thank you SO MUCH to all you lovely people who commented and left kudos! I would address you all personally, but it would take up so much room and you know who you are! I hope you all enjoyed the story; I spent so long agonizing over how to wrap it up. I knew that this chapter of their relationship was coming to a close and I wanted to do it justice without writing TOO much because I felt like it wasn't going to be some big, momentous thing. They're not finished yet; they've just begun and I wanted the end of this story to reflect that.   
> I'm thinking of writing a follow-up story, so let me know what you think and hopefully I'll have it done soon!


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